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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26311438">The Recipe for Making Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered/pseuds/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered'>DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Many Little AUs for the Purpose of Exploding the Lilshotgun Tag [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warrior Nun (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Chefs, F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:41:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26311438</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered/pseuds/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Chef AU in which Mary is an American chef in a French cooking competition. Ava is her sous chef. Lilith is also competing, with Beatrice as her sous, and sparks fly between the two teams. </p><p>The title comes from this charming Harry Connick Jr. song of the same name:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uij5s69iEjs</p><p> </p><p>A little bit of me and a whole lot of you<br/>Add a dash of starlight and a dozen roses, too<br/>Then let it rise for a hundred years or two<br/>And that's the recipe for making love</p><p>It doesn't need sugar 'cause it's already sweet<br/>It doesn't need an oven 'cause it's got a lot of heat<br/>Just add a dash of kisses to make it all complete<br/>And that's the recipe for making love</p><p>And if you've made it right you'll know it<br/>It's not like anything you've made before<br/>And if you've made it wrong you'll know it<br/>'Cause it won't keep you coming back for more</p><p>I didn't get it from my grandma's book upon the shelf<br/>I didn't get it from a magical and culinary elf<br/>No, a little birdie told me you can't make it by yourself<br/>And that's the recipe for making love</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva, Sister Lilith/Shotgun Mary (Warrior Nun)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Many Little AUs for the Purpose of Exploding the Lilshotgun Tag [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>366</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ava and Mary each have a rolling suitcase which is filled with their knives, favorite utensils, a selection of spices, and a few little appliances that they don’t expect the competition to be supplying. Mary is already in her whites, but Ava’s are folded up carefully in a backpack on her shoulders, because she wisely doesn’t trust herself to keep them clean, and doesn’t intend to put them on until it’s time to compete.</p><p class="p1">“Ohhh, crepe stand!” Ava exclaims, and starts to veer away from the main door of the Paris Convention Center, drawn away by the promising smells of savory crepes from a small sidewalk stand.</p><p class="p1">Mary slaps her shoulder gently and puts her back on track. “Focus. Jesus.”</p><p class="p1">“But the sign says they have saucisson sec,” Ava gripes, but keeps walking.</p><p class="p1">They apparently shot all of Iron Chef Paris here, and so there are a dozen or so temporarily installed kitchens in the main convention space. The competition is thirty chefs from around the world, mostly French. There’s one or two Brits that Mary is aware of, and as far as she knows, somehow, she and Ava are the only Americans.</p><p class="p1">Mary stops near a ladies’ room. “Go change. You’re not walking out on the floor without your whites on.”</p><p class="p1">Ava runs inside.</p><p class="p1">Ava is a frustrating sous chef; she doesn’t always retain directions, she improvises too much, and Mary has lost count of the number of times she has “surprised” her with a few extra ingredients in her <em>mise en place</em>.But, she has a gift. She can identify any spices in any dish with a single taste. And even her mistakes taste good.</p><p class="p1">Besides that, she’s a good wingman.</p><p class="p1">After they check in, they walk onto the floor and look for the space they’ve been assigned. This morning is just going to be about meeting the judges, going over the schedule, and letting the judges and staff inspect what they’ve brought to make sure it’s all allowed, according to the rules.</p><p class="p1">As Ava unpacks their knives, Mary inspects the drawers at their station to see what they’ve provided already. It’s a respectable arsenal. But she prefers her own tools, so she probably won’t need much of it. Her grandmother’s recipes have been shaped by years of American Southern cooking, which has its own ways, and then perfected by Mary’s own introduction of new ingredients and different tools, and techniques she’d picked up from French cooking. You could call it high-end soul food, but it’s more than that. It has to be, to earn two Michelin stars and an invitation to the French Culinary Institute’s International Cooking Competition.</p><p class="p1">Ava comes over and nudges Mary. “Hey,” she whispers, not particularly subtly. “Isn’t that the chick from the wine bar last night?”</p><p class="p1">Mary glances up to where Ava is pointing. There’s a tall, dramatic-looking woman in whites at the stainless steel counter a few stations down, having a very intense conversation with her sous chef, a shorter woman who listens intently and seems to only need to interject occasionally.</p><p class="p1">Mary groans. “Shit. I think it is.”</p><p class="p1">She and Ava had gone out last night in the Oberkampf to hear some music and blow off a little steam before the big day. Mary had her eye on a woman, and tried to get Ava to distract her friend so she could make a move, but neither of them had been terribly receptive. They had both been serious; Mary thought it was a little weird that they were out at a place like that at all if they weren't there to have fun.</p><p class="p1">Mary can handle no, she’d heard it plenty of times in her life, but it had been a little disappointing. Maybe she didn’t like Americans?</p><p class="p1">“I bet she knew who you were,” Ava says quietly, pretending to go back to the inventory. “I bet you she went and found all the competitors and memorized their names and faces before she even got here. I bet she saw you coming last night and recognized you, and that’s why she was such a frostybox.”</p><p class="p1">Mary chuckles. Is anyone really that competitive?</p><p class="p1">She returns to unpacking, and pulls out two bottles of California Chardonnay. She intends to compete cooking American food and using American wine. It’s risky. She knows how to cook French food; though her pedigree is not Le Cordon Bleu, like many of the chefs here, she went to a cooking school in Atlanta that was decent, and learned what she needed to.</p><p class="p1">“Mary Lefusil, isn’t it?” someone says over her shoulder.</p><p class="p1">She turns around, expecting it to be one of the judges, but it’s the woman from last night. “Where’d you come from?”</p><p class="p1">“Sneak up on you, did I?” Her eyes are gleaming, in a way they weren’t last night.</p><p class="p1">“Clocked you when I got in,” Mary responded. “Been a little busy.”</p><p class="p1">“I see.” She looks at the wine. “California Chardonnay? For cleaning your utensils?”</p><p class="p1">Mary gives her a slow smile. “You memorized everyone’s names and faces a week ago, didn’t you? You that worried?”</p><p class="p1">“Not worried at all. Unlike some people here, my pedigree is perfectly sound.”</p><p class="p1"><em>So that’s what this is about.</em> This chick wants to know how Mary, who did not graduate from a high-end French cooking school, managed to open a restaurant with two Michelin stars and get herself invited to an international cooking competition in Paris. She looks like she intends to devour Mary whole, and Mary can’t quite tell whether it’s in the fun way or not.</p><p class="p1">“And your name would be?”</p><p class="p1">“Lily Bardsfield-Chapman.”</p><p class="p1">“You got a license to carry that many names?”</p><p class="p1">“I was going easy on you, actually.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, don’t ever do that.”</p><p class="p1">“In that case, Lilith Castañeda Bardsfield-Chapman.”</p><p class="p1">Mary has questions. Why does she need to sneak that Castañeda in there, like it's a secret? She looks like she ought to be a member of the Spanish royal court, with her dark, shiny eyes, golden brown skin and those dramatic cheekbones that go on for days, so why is she running around with this … this name? This name that sounds like the the wife of a pompous British explorer? Lily Bardsfield-Chapman? There are choices going on here, signs that this is someone who is desperate to define herself and her success in a certain way.</p><p class="p1">Lily is a mess. A tall, gorgeous mess. With a giant chip on her shoulder. Well, Mary wouldn’t be here in Paris right now if she didn’t like a challenge, she supposes.She looks Lily up and down. “Nice names,” she says with a little smirk.</p><p class="p1">Lily seems angry for a moment, thrown off by Mary’s mild flirtation. She was clearly expecting this to go down a slightly different way.</p><p class="p1">“Well, I best get back to it,” Mary says. “Good luck, Lily.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t need luck,” Lilith responds tartly. She glances over at Ava, who is testing their immersion blender to make sure it didn’t get damaged in traveling. “Your sous has some saffron on her whites.”</p><p class="p1">She walks away.</p><p class="p1">Mary shakes her head and walks over to Ava. Sure enough, there’s a smudge of yellow on her shoulder. “You mind telling me how you managed to get saffron on your whites when we haven’t even started cooking yet?”</p><p class="p1">Ava looks down. “For fuck’s sake!” She shakes her head. “Whatever, I have a lot of extra.” She looks at Lilith, back at her own station. “So, what the hell was all that?”</p><p class="p1">“You called it. She knew exactly who I was.” Mary gazes at her intently for a moment. “I’m gonna wreck that chick.”</p><p class="p1">“You mean wreck her as in, defeat her soundly in the noble art of competition, or wreck her as in, bend her over the back of a sofa and give her multiple orgasms till she can’t make words anymore?”</p><p class="p1">Mary shrugs. “Either. Both. I’m not picky.”</p><p class="p1">Ava cackles. “I knew Paris was gonna be fun.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, yeah. Finish unpacking and go change your damn jacket.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ava takes matters into her own hands</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">After their check-in, Ava and Mary go back to their little hotel in the French quarter. Mary is still grumbling about her brush with that attractive, haughty chef, and does so until she finally goes down for a bit of a nap.</p><p class="p1">Relieved, Ava slips out and goes for a walk. Now, to her thinking, it would be to everyone’s benefit if she softened relations between her team and theirs, and besides, Mary wants to either fuck, marry or kill that girl, and maybe possibly all three. So, Ava, being nothing if not a good wingman, gets on a bus and makes her way down to the hotel in the Marais that she had overheard the chef and her sous discussing.</p><p class="p1">Overheard is being generous. She had been eavesdropping. She is good at that.</p><p class="p1">The hotel is a fancy place. This is the kind of place that put chocolates on your pillows and has turndown service and that kind of stuff. She approaches the desk clerk. In her truly lousy French, she inquires after the room number of the person in question.</p><p class="p1">Christ. What is her name?</p><p class="p1">Lily Something Something Chapman. Ugh.</p><p class="p1">After a bit of frowning and tapping away on the computer, the hotel clerk announces, "Ah! Viola! Lily Bardsfield-Chapman, Suite 334."</p><p class="p1">Ava shouts "Merci!" over her shoulder as she jogs toward the elevators with a box of croissants in hand. She is never so happy as when she is causing some chaos that will either turn out great or horrible.</p><p class="p1">The box is filled with chocolate croissants from a baker that the hotel clerk recommended. Ava's hopeful that it will be enough to get her in the door so she can commit a charm offensive or failing that, an offensive-offensive.</p><p class="p1">Maybe both, given the way Mary seems to be feeling about it all.</p><p class="p1">She knocks on the door.</p><p class="p1">"Just a moment!" comes muffled from the other side.Some footsteps come almost inaudibly toward the door, and when it openes, Ava finds herself face to face with Lily Bardsfield-Chapman's sous chef.</p><p class="p1">There's a small problem.She has dark, soulful eyes, an utterly kissable mouth, and the aura of a woman who knows how to handle a knife. She's the closest thing to an angel that Ava has ever laid eyes on.</p><p class="p1">"Hi," she says dumbly after a moment.</p><p class="p1">The sous, looking a little tired but amused at the spectacle of Ava in front of her lacking the ability to form a sentence, answers, "Hello."</p><p class="p1">And when no further response is forthcoming from Ava, she presses, "Can I help you?"</p><p class="p1">Ava nods. "Oh! Yeah. Hi. Sorry. My, uh, brain took like, a five second vacation there. Anyway..." She holds up the box of croissants and puts them forward."Uh, I'm Ava."</p><p class="p1">"Hello, Ava." The sous shakes the box, making a little screwed up face as if she suspects something amiss. "It's not a bomb, is it?"</p><p class="p1">"Not unless the bakery I got them at is seriously overrated."</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Oh, you're so smooth, Ava. What the fuck?</em>
</p><p class="p1">"So, to what do I owe the honor of these baked goods?"</p><p class="p1">Ava regains her footing and launches into a better speech than her first failed attempt. "Well, I just thought that my boss and your boss got off on a little bit of a weird foot, and frankly, to be honest, so did you and I, so think of it as a little gesture to sweeten our relations going forward."</p><p class="p1">The sous looks impressed. "An offer of détente?" she inquires.</p><p class="p1">Ava is 97% sure she knows that word and can use it properly. "Nah just croissant," she says.</p><p class="p1">“A détente Croissant?”</p><p class="p1">"Exactly. So, what's your name?"</p><p class="p1">"It's Beatrice."</p><p class="p1">Ugh. Beatrice. What a pretty name. "Nice to meet you, Beatrice. Enchantée."</p><p class="p1">Beatrice is not quite laughing but she seems clearly amused. Maybe the klutzy thing is working for her. Who knows. Sometimes it can work like that.</p><p class="p1">But just as Beatrice begins to delicately tug at the string to release the contents of the box, the chef approaches from behind and demands, "What is that?" She looks up sharply at Ava. "What are you doing here?"</p><p class="p1">Ava tries her speech again. "Well, you know, I just think we all got off on the wrong foot, what with meeting you guys in the bar and you knowing who we were and not saying, and then you, Ms. Chapman–"</p><p class="p1">"Bardsfield-Chapman, thank you."</p><p class="p1">"Whoa, sorry. Ms. Bardsfield-Chapan, you and my boss seemed a little tense yesterday, so I just wanted to make a little... offer of détente. You seem like lovely people and I don't see any reason why we need to have things be so hostile."</p><p class="p1">She can see the dismay in Beatrice's face, and the tension coming off of the chef is palpable in the air. Lily Bardsfield-Chapman stiffens her back and demands, "Did you miss the bit where we are competitors?"</p><p class="p1">"No," Ava replies, "but that doesn't mean it has to be like a demilitarized zone in the kitchen."</p><p class="p1">"This is war!" Lily declares. She looks at the open box of croissants in Beatrice's hand. "You're not to eat a single bite of those!"</p><p class="p1">"Hey, I'm sorry, I got them from a bakery that's supposed to be really good,” Ava protests.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sure,” Lily sneers, and yanks the box out of Beatrice’s hands. “It’s a very nice try, but it won’t do you any good. We’re not going to take it easy on you!” With that, she yanks Beatrice inside and slams the door shut.</p><p class="p1">Woof. Angry, that one. Ava doesn't get why Mary always goes for the intense ones, but Ava figures she’s done her part. Lily had not handed the box back, after all. The croissants have gone inside with her.</p><p class="p1">Ava creeps up to the door, and listens for a moment.</p><p class="p1">She hears Beatrice’s muffled voice, “Lilith, be reasonable, they’re perfectly good...”</p><p class="p1">And then Lilith’s voice, “No! We’re not going to…” And then there is a pause, presumably as Lilith realizes where they were from. “Bloody hell.”</p><p class="p1">A few beats of silence go by. Then Beatrice’s voice, “So… can I have one, then?”</p><p class="p1">“Not. A. Word. You will not tell her we ate them.”</p><p class="p1">“Of course not.”</p><p class="p1">“God, they’re delicious.”</p><p class="p1">“It really was a nice gesture, you know.”</p><p class="p1">“Quiet.”</p><p class="p1">And then, there is nothing but quiet. Smirking, Ava walks back down to the lobby and heads back to her own hotel before Mary wakes up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Lilith knows her craft and trusts Beatrice implicitly, but that doesn’t mean the presence of multiple cameras throughout the room hasn’t ratcheted up her stress levels. The adorable little camera woman from the BBC introduces herself as Camila and promises that they won’t even notice she’s there. Lilith, of course, will notice, because she notices everything.</p><p class="p1">“The host will be along in a minute just to say hi,” Camila says.</p><p class="p1">Lilith is checking her equipment for the hundredth time, ticking off the amount of veal and truffles and everything else that she will need, and making sure that the dough that Beatrice prepped last night will be ready to roll out and form the bouchées they’re planning to make for the first round of competition.</p><p class="p1">French TV is here too, and the American Food Network and God knows who else. Lilith knows she makes it look easy, but internally, she has the equivalent of a group of children banging on gongs in her head.</p><p class="p1">And her mother’s voice. Always her mother’s voice. But she prefers to claim it as her own. It feels less oppressive that way. <em>This is in your blood. It’s your birthright. Do what you must to succeed. Be better. Best. </em></p><p class="p1">“Lilith Canstañeda,” says a woman’s voice, and oh God, Lilith knows that voice. An Irish accent. Fucking Crimson McCarthy.</p><p class="p1">Lilith turns around and finds herself face to face with an older version of the Irish girl who wiped out at Le Cordon Bleu at the same time that Lilith was there. They had not gotten along well then. And the faintly malicious smile on her face suggested they are not going to get along well now, either. “Not in about eight years, Crim.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, right, forgive me,” she responds with overmuch politeness, “Lily Bardsfield-Chapman. How’d you manage to keep his name after the divorce?”</p><p class="p1">“I had a good solicitor,” Lilith answers coldly. She looks Crimson up and down and takes in the snappy blue suit and the microphone clipped to her lapel and it sinks in. Crim is the goddamned host for the BBC broadcast. “I’m surprised you kept up with my triflings after your departure.”</p><p class="p1">Crimson takes it in stride. “Well, the young standard-bearer for haute cuisine, how could I not pay attention.” She looks between Lilith and Beatrice, who is giving Crimson that quiet, watchful look. Anyone who knows her sous chef well knows that there are daggers behind it.</p><p class="p1">“Well,” Crimsons says, “<em>bon chance,</em> Lily.” She breezes away.</p><p class="p1">Fucking Crimson McCarthy washed up at cooking school and now she’s commentating on cooking competitions because she thinks she knows something about haute cuisine, and the BBC apparently likes her Irish lilt.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice comes over and asks quietly, “Do I need to have a word with her, Chef?” When they’re on the floor, Beatrice always addresses her as “Chef,” even in private conversations such as this one.</p><p class="p1">Lilith shakes her head. “No.”</p><p class="p1">“I could kill her for you, Chef, but then I imagine we’d be tossed from the competition.” The mirth in Beatrice’s eyes is subtle, but Lilith knows her muted humor by now and it helps a little bit.</p><p class="p1">She turns around and glances over in time to catch the eye of Mary Lefusil, and her sous, Ava, who is wearing a shit-eating grin. She smiles tightly at them. She can’t let them see her rattled. But she and Crim hated each other then, and Lilith has no faith that she’ll comment fairly on her performance.</p><p class="p1">“Only the judges’ opinions matter,” Beatrice reminds her, and her steadiness helps Lilith keep her head in the game.</p><p class="p1">Thirty minutes later, the judges have given their instructions for this first round: they have to prepare an appetizer and have thirty minutes in which to do so. Any teams which are unfinished at thirty minutes are disqualified. The judges have been given detailed descriptions of what the dish is supposed to be and deviations from that will also be disqualified.</p><p class="p1">Lilith is like a machine, though, and Beatrice is excellent at retaining everything she’s asked to do, so she’s not worried about that bit. But the bouchées are delicate, and nothing can go wrong. Undercooked dough, overcooked mushrooms, and it will be disaster.</p><p class="p1">So when they are given leave to start cooking, Lilith allows Beatrice to handle forming the cups out of the flaky vol-au-vent pastry while Lilith begins cutting the mushrooms –three different varieties, earthy, winey, and golden– and sauteeing them in the garlic and butter, alongside the thinly sliced veal. When it’s time to add the champagne, she is vaguely aware of Beatrice addressing the camera op, Camila, that she might want to catch what’s about to happen.</p><p class="p1">Lilith pours the champagne in and then lights it aflame with the cooking torch to burn off the excess alcohol, carefully moving the pan to keep the flames from searing the mushrooms.</p><p class="p1">“Oh!” Crimson comments with phony delight. “A bit of the flambé from Lily Bardsfield-Chapman, let’s see how she does with keeping those lovely mushrooms from getting overdone.”</p><p class="p1">But Lilith is focused on her task. She adds the cream, the stock, and babysits the mixture like an egg about to hatch. A moment too long, and it all goes to shit. She has no time for Crimson and her passive aggressive horse shit.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice comes to her and says quietly, “Eight minutes, Chef.”</p><p class="p1">“The pastries done?”</p><p class="p1">“Done enough.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith doesn’t like that answer, but it will have to do. Beatrice takes them from the oven and lays them out on the tray. Lilith inspects their color. They are golden-brown, but Beatrice knows her preference is a shade darker than this. Still, they are not undercooked, and they have no time to play with. They fill the pastries together, and then finish them with white truffle shavings and lay down their tools as the final buzzer sounds.</p><p class="p1">She survived. She doesn’t even hear Crimson’s commentary as she stands there with her heartbeat in her ears.</p><p class="p1">The judges make their way around the room, which takes forever and a day. At some point, she looks over at Beatrice and sees her looking back at Mary –no, not at Mary. At Ava, who’s smiling and waving. Mary elbows her, and Ava immediately finds herself something to occupy her busy hands.</p><p class="p1">Lilith doesn’t think she could ever deal with having a right hand who was so fidgety. Beatrice is like a ninja. Just… still, and quiet, until she needs to be. You don’t have to tell her things twice. She’s not sloppy.</p><p class="p1">She’s looking back at Ava again.</p><p class="p1">Lilith nudges her discreetly. “Will you stop flirting with the enemy?”</p><p class="p1">“Am I not allowed to look around the room?”</p><p class="p1">“Really, who’s at the station to our right? No looking.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice frowns.</p><p class="p1">“That’s what I thought.”</p><p class="p1">“Sorry, chef. She’s… cute.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith’s eyebrows raise. “That sloppy American?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice shrugs. “My palate is broader than you think, Chef.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith looks up at the cieling. “God in Heaven…”</p><p class="p1">“Besides, she brought croissants from Gilles Marchal.”</p><p class="p1">“Your affection is too easily bought.”</p><p class="p1">The judges finally make their way to Lilith’s work station. Among them, to Lilith’s delight and trepidation both, is an old instructor of hers from school, Shannon Masters. “Madame,” she says respectfully.</p><p class="p1">“Ah good to see you, Lily.” She looks at the tarts spread out on the tray. “Lovely,” she says approvingly. “Now…” She looks at her card and says, “Bouchées a la Reine, with veal, in champagne sauce with white truffle shavings.”She picks up a pastry and takes a bite.</p><p class="p1">Mme. Masters had always a been a tough but very fair instructor, not overgenerous with her praise. If she told you that you’d done well, she meant it. But she didn’t trade much in hyperbole and flattery. She could be very funny outside of class, but she was intensely serious about cooking.</p><p class="p1">The judges each take one, and discuss amongst themselves for a few minutes. Then she looks up and smiles at Lilith. “Very good. Excellent flavors, fine presentation. A little safe, if I’m being honest, but up to snuff. Congratulations, Mlle. Bardsfield-Chapman, you will be advancing to the next round.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith and Beatrice breath a sigh of relief. They collapse against each other for a moment once the judges and cameras have moved past.</p><p class="p1">As they’re setting about cleaning up their station, who should come by but Ava, with a little plate. There are two little constructions on it, each a perfect little cylinder with a pale green at the bottom, and a brighter green paste on top, and little slivers of something on top of that. “What’s this?” Beatrice says.</p><p class="p1">“We had a couple of leftovers, and Mary wanted you guys to have them,” Ava says.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice looks at Lilith, shrugs with an almost apologetic look, and picks one up. “What is it?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s Féroce d'avocat, but more like canapé, and we garnished the top with a little finely chopped ventreche.”</p><p class="p1">“Féroce d'avocat? Risky,” Lilith remarks. “Did you two advance?”</p><p class="p1">“Uh huh,” Ava says.</p><p class="p1">Féroce d'avocat is more West Indian than French, a paste primarily made of salt cod, avocado, cassava flour and chili peppers. It’s creamy and hot. Usually it’s served in avocado shells and isn’t considered a very haute cuisine sort of thing. But she’s presented these little sculptures, and ventreche on top –Gascony bacon– is an interesting touch. Lilith takes one, pops it into her mouth, because she has to know. She has to know whether Mary is really that good.</p><p class="p1">She is.</p><p class="p1">The paste is a bit thicker than one finds it in when the dish is served in an avocado shell, presumably for easier scultping, but the heat from the peppers is not so fiery the way it can be in this dish, the salt cod present, but not overwhelming, and there are a handful of other flavor notes that she can’t place, that come and go and are replaced by others. The slice of cucumber that serves as the foundation for this presentation is crisp and not invasive. The ventreche is a lingering, salty piece de resistance.</p><p class="p1">It’s so good, it makes Lilith mad.</p><p class="p1">She nods stiffly at Ava. “Thank you. See you next round,” she says warningly.</p><p class="p1">“It’s quite good,” Beatrice adds, and shoves two leftover tarts into Ava’s hands. “Please tell her thank you. From both of us, isn’t that right, Chef?”</p><p class="p1">“Of course,” Lilith says coldly.</p><p class="p1">They are done for the day. Once they clean up their station, Lilith leaves the place fuming.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Mary and Ava find themselves in a wine bar later that evening. Mary is satisfied that they advanced, but annoyed with Ava for wandering over to Lilith’s station with the leftovers.</p><p class="p1">“What’d you do that for?”</p><p class="p1">“Look, you said you wanted a bite of her. I was just… smoothing the road for you, that’s all. It’s what I do.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah.” Mary’s sarcasm is as thick as mousse. “Or maybe you just wanted to go give heart eyes to her sous.”</p><p class="p1">“What, Beatrice? Well, she is kind of an angel.” Ava practically looks like she has Disney birds circling her head when she says this. “I mean, did you see her?”</p><p class="p1">“So it’s Beatrice, huh? I didn’t get a good look.”</p><p class="p1">This isn’t strictly true: Mary did see the younger woman, and picked up kind of a cool, zen vibe from her. Pretty, but not setting off any firecrackers for Mary. But Ava’s “puppy on espresso” energy needs the kind of calm that girls like Beatrice have about them.</p><p class="p1">She’s considering this as she works on a glass of burgundy and runs over in her mind what her plans are for the next round. Mme. Masters had a serious intensity when she tasted their feroce d’avocat that let Mary know she didn’t have room to play around. Tomorrow would be soups and salads, and Mary knows she is walking a fine line between too exotic for haute cuisine and interesting enough to stand out.She has a few more hoursbefore she has to email in the final recipes.</p><p class="p1">She glanced up to see Ava’s face light up like Christmas. Mary glances over her shoulder and finds Beatrice striding toward them. Hm.</p><p class="p1">“Hey Beatrice!” Ava says, and she gets that crooked grin like she does when she’s trying to be charming. The annoying thing is, it works. Mary’s been friends with her since they were moppets and her grandma fostered the little punk. She’s seen it work a million times.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice gives them an oddly formal little nod, and a smile that is small, but seems genuine. “Good evening, Miss Silva, Ms. Lefusil.”</p><p class="p1">Mary snorts. “You can just call me Mary. Your boss isn’t here.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice continues to smile steadily at them. “No, she isn’t. May I take a seat?”</p><p class="p1">“Please do,” Ava says quickly, before Mary can say no.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice pulls a chair out from the small table and sits down. “I can’t stay long, but I just wanted to make you aware of something. The BBC commentator, Crimson McCarthy?”</p><p class="p1">“What about her?” Mary wants to know.</p><p class="p1">“Just… watch out for her.” Beatrice turns serious now.</p><p class="p1">“What do you mean?” Mary had noticed that Lilith seemed to have some tension with her, but had no idea what it had to do with them.</p><p class="p1">“Lily knew her at Le Cordon Bleu. Crim washed up after about a year, but suffice it to say they didn’t mix well. And if her history with the woman is any indication, she probably is the sort to get up to shenanigans if she thinks it will make better drama for her broadcast.”</p><p class="p1">Ava gasps. “She’d rig a fight she’s not even in?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice nods. “I don’t think it’s beneath her. So check your tools and ingredients thoroughly before each round. Be as sure as you can that she’s not tampered with anything.”</p><p class="p1">Mary considers the younger woman for a moment. “So, why are you telling us this?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiles again, that saintly smile. Mary wishes Ava would swoon a little less. “Because Lily has a certain sense of honor. If she beats you, she wants it to be because she’s truly better, and not because someone cheated, no matter whose behalf it may have been on.”</p><p class="p1">Mary and Ava exchange a look. They are wondering the same thing. Ava is the one to ask it. “Did she send you to talk to us?” </p><p class="p1">Beatrice glances between them, and after a long pause, she says, “I know her well enough to know that she would want me to.”</p><p class="p1">Ava grins at Beatrice, all dimples and loose limbs, and says, “You wanna stay for a glass of wine?”</p><p class="p1">Painfully polite, Beatrice says, “I’m afraid I can’t. Like you, Lily and I have to prep for tomorrow.” She gets up. “Thank you for hearing me out.”</p><p class="p1">She walks away, Ava gazing longingly after her.</p><p class="p1">“Put your tongue away,” Mary scolds.</p><p class="p1">Ava sticks her tongue out at Mary, then grins. “She totally likes me.”</p><p class="p1">Mary smiles. “You’re a fool.”</p><p class="p1">“A fool in love,” Ava insists. “I’m telling you. She digs me. I can tell. She snuck off here to help us out without her boss knowing? Come on.”</p><p class="p1">Ava’s logic isn’t airtight but it’s sound enough.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The next morning, Mary and Ava head to the convention center in their fresh whites. They arrive early, and the first thing they do is check all of their utensils and make sure that everything they need is in their small refrigerator. Everything looks like it’s in order. Nothing is missing.</p><p class="p1">Mary notices Lily and Beatrice show up a few minutes after they arrive, and decides to go speak with Lily. She walks over, doing her best to wear a neutral expression.</p><p class="p1">“Lily,” she says, and she can see Lily twitch a little at the familiarity of the address, but doesn’t comment.</p><p class="p1">“What is it?” Lily asks, inspecting her case of knives without looking up.</p><p class="p1">Mary wants to know what kind of person she is. “Your boucheés were good. The three mushrooms and the champagne were an interesting choice. It worked well.”</p><p class="p1">“Mme. Masters said it was a bit safe,” Beatrice volunteers.</p><p class="p1">“Beatrice, can you refill the ice?” Lily says sharply.</p><p class="p1">“Oui, Chef.” Beatrice disappears.</p><p class="p1">“Wish I could get Ava to snap to like that.” Mary draws a little closer and drops her voice. “Listen, I couldn’t help but notice yesterday when you were talking to the BBC woman that you two seemed to have a beef. Do I have to be worried about her?”</p><p class="p1">Lily stops looking at her knives and looks up at Mary. “Just mind your tools. I don’t trust her not to sabotage to create drama, and neither should you.”</p><p class="p1">Mary didn’t want to rat Beatrice out, but she did want to know what kind of person Lily was, and she has her answer. And the answer is, she’s a fundamentally decent one, it would seem. “What are you making today?”</p><p class="p1">“Why, so you can change your recipe?”</p><p class="p1">“You know I’d be disqualified if I changed it now, come on,” Mary says. “The boucheés were good. I just wondered what your soup was going to be.”</p><p class="p1">After an awkward moment of closing up the knife case and looking around for something else to inspect, Lily says, “Soupe au pistou. Fall vegetables, coco de paimpol and Spanish ham.” She makes eye contact with Mary, finally. “And you?”</p><p class="p1">“Pumpkin carrot soup with rainbow trout.”</p><p class="p1">Lily’s eyebrows raise. “You like to take chances.”</p><p class="p1">Mary smiles. “I do. You should try it sometime. Bet there’s a wealth of great discoveries to be made if you let yourself fail once in a while.”</p><p class="p1">Lily frowns. “If you’ll excuse me.”</p><p class="p1">“Of course.”</p><p class="p1">Mary walks back over to their station, whistling.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, shit, she’s whistling,” Ava says. She’s plugging in the immersion blender to make sure it’s still working.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, I’m whistling.”</p><p class="p1">Ava squeezes the button and the blender whirs. “Why?”</p><p class="p1">“There’s a real woman under all that prickly bullshit. I can tell.”</p><p class="p1">Ava just shakes her head.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Lily’s soupe au pistou is excellent. Beatrice brings a little bowl over at the end for Mary and Ava to share. Beatrice brings back a little bowl of the carrot pumpkin soup to share with Lily.</p><p class="p1">Mary smiles when she sees Lily take a spoonful, close her eyes, and revel in it for a moment. After a few seconds, her eyes snap open, she sees Mary watching her, and she turns around quickly.</p><p class="p1">Chuckling to herself, Mary takes a spoonful of Lily’s soup.</p><p class="p1">“Oh shit, that’s basil,” Ava says. Ava can taste everything.</p><p class="p1">“That ham is no joke,” Mary says.</p><p class="p1">It’s good. It’s so good. It’s a display of good taste and good choices. She went mad, clearly, finding the best ingredients. Coco de Paimpol are a rare white haricot bean grown in only one specific place in France at this specific time of year. They’re nutty and flowery, and melt in Mary’s mouth when she eats them.</p><p class="p1">She tastes so much talent.</p><p class="p1">She doesn’t taste joy.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">The competition is down to eight survivors. Ava starts singing “Survivor” by Destiny’s Child as they sit in the back of a taxi back to their hotel.</p><p class="p1">“I will flambé your ass if you don’t stop singing,” Mary says.</p><p class="p1">Ava grins. “Come on, this is exciting. You weren’t even going to do this and here we are. We’re one of eight left standing.”</p><p class="p1">Mary folds her arms and pretends to ignore her.</p><p class="p1">“Come on, say it,” Ava prods. “Thanks, Ava, this was a great idea, I’m having so much fun.”</p><p class="p1">Mary laughs. “All right, all right. It was a good idea.”</p><p class="p1">“So, are we going to that party later?”</p><p class="p1">A gregarious young Spanish chef and his criminally glamorous sous chef are throwing a little get together at some jazz bar. Ava badly wants to go.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know,” Mary says.</p><p class="p1">“Pleeeeeease.”</p><p class="p1">“Is Lily going?”</p><p class="p1">“I dunno.”</p><p class="p1">“Beatrice didn’t tip you off?”</p><p class="p1">Ava grins. “Come on, we’re not tight like that. Not yet anyway.” She waggles her eyebrows at Mary. “Come on, we’ll just go, have a couple of drinks, and head out. That J.C. guy seems nice, and we can drool over his sous together.”</p><p class="p1">Mary sighs.</p><p class="p1">Ava knows when she’s won.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">****</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">When they arrive at the place, Mary looks at Ava skeptically. “Think your shirt’s tight enough?”</p><p class="p1">Ava looks down. She’s actually fairly pleased with the amount of cleavage she’s showing. “I’m trying to look enticing in case Beatrice shows up.”</p><p class="p1">Mary snorts. “You’re a big girl, you can make your own choices, just don’t drop any amuse bouches down your cleavage.”</p><p class="p1">The place is shockingly small, and Ava recognizes all the remaining chefs, plus a few of the ones who were eliminated today. Those chefs are drinking a little more heavily than the others. But everyone has something in hand, so Ava saunters up to the bar and orders two glasses of house white for her and Mary, a sauvignon blanc from the Loire. She holds them up to the light. “Look at those highlights,” she says, “they’re like, green.”</p><p class="p1">“What’s wrong, can’t find any California Chardonnay?”</p><p class="p1">They turn around to find Lily and Beatrice behind them.</p><p class="p1">Ava can’t get a read on either of these chicks. Lily is too intense. She can’t tell whether she’s attempting to make a joke or just being a bitch. She rallies the charm offensive. “Can we get you two something to drink?”</p><p class="p1">“No, thank you,” Lily says.</p><p class="p1">“Yes, please,” says Beatrice.</p><p class="p1">Lily looks at Beatrice reproachfully.</p><p class="p1">“What?” Beatrice says. “We’re at a party, Lily.”</p><p class="p1">Lily relents, looking like she’s going to grumble at Beatrice about it in the cab all the way back to the hotel.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiles at Ava. “Yes, please, we’ll have two of whatever that is you’re having, it looks lovely.”</p><p class="p1">Ava hands their untouched glasses to Beatrice and Lily, and fetches two more from the bartender. While she’s waiting, Beatrice approaches her. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”</p><p class="p1">Ava grins. “I wasn’t sure I’d be here either.” She glances over her shoulder at Mary and Lily, whose conversation seems a little stilted, but they are gamely making a go of it. “I’m surprised you got Lily here.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice sips from her glass and smiles. “This is quite good, this wine. Well-balanced. A bit fruity.”</p><p class="p1">“You could be describing me right there,” Ava quips.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice doesn’t laugh out loud, but Ava identifies a twinkle of amusement in those big, soulful eyes. “It’s also supple and well-structured.”</p><p class="p1">Ava gestures at herself. “See? It’s me. You’re drinking me in wine form. You like your wine like you like your women.”</p><p class="p1">Ava does a little dance of glee when she sees Beatrice flush ever so slightly. The bartender produces two more glasses, and Ava passes one to Mary.</p><p class="p1">“So,” Ava says, leaning against the bar, “how else do you like your wine?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice sips for a moment, smirking behind the rim of her glass. “Disastrous. Charming. A bit sloppy. Full of absolutely inexcusable jokes.”</p><p class="p1">“I can get you a whole bottle of that,” Ava says. A waiter is coming around with some trays of little canapés. She gasps and waves her hand wildly at him. “Ooh, salmon and crème fraîche! Bring that over here, my man. Je suis pret á manger!”</p><p class="p1">She knows her accent is lousy. She hopes her enthusiasm makes up for it.</p><p class="p1">The waiter comes by, and Beatrice plucks a single canapé off the tray and eats it. Ava takes two in one hand. But managing these is too much with a glass of wine in her other hand. One makes it into her mouth. The other tumbles down the front of her shirt and into her bra, exactly where Mary predicted it would. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Mary noticing this and doubling over laughing. Ava surrenders and puts her wine down, grinning like an idiot, and reaches down into her shirt to retrieve the lost appetizer. Beatrice stands there laughing and blushing.</p><p class="p1">“Hey look, it’s kinda in one piece,” Ava observes, noting that the salmon did manage to stay attached to the toast point. “Want some boob canapé?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice is laughing so hard, but not out loud. “No, not really, thank you,” she manages to gasp.</p><p class="p1">“I gotta go to the bathroom and get the crème fraîche out of my bra. Don’t go anywhere.”</p><p class="p1">When she returns, she finds Beatrice chatting with J.C. Leon’s supermodel sous chef.</p><p class="p1">“Ava,” she says, “have you met Chanel?”</p><p class="p1">Ava grabs her hand and shakes it vigorously. “Only really briefly. Thanks for throwing this thing, you guys. It’s such a great idea. To just kick back a little before we go into the final rounds.”</p><p class="p1">Chanel winks. “We like to see people having a good time. Or else what’s any of it for?”</p><p class="p1">Ava isn’t sure what her accent is, but it’s exotic and she likes it.</p><p class="p1">The music has picked up a bit, and people are starting to dance. Ava wonders if she should ask Beatrice to dance, except she doesn’t really know how to dance to this stuff. At the other end of the bar, Camila, the camera op, is perched, standing, on a bar stool, with her handheld camera roving over the crowd.“That looks like a bad idea,” Ava says.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice nods.</p><p class="p1">The idea appears even worse when they get close enough to say hello to her. She’s had a couple of drinks, and her previously neutral accent has been replaced by a very Scottish one.</p><p class="p1">“Camila!” Ava calls. “What are you doing here?”</p><p class="p1">Camila smiles broadly when she sees them. “Crimson tellt me tae come 'ere and git a hail bunch of B-roll tae cut intae th' special. Ah tell ye, ah ne'er git a nicht aff wi' that boot!”</p><p class="p1">Ava looks at Beatrice. “Where are her subtitles? Jeez.”</p><p class="p1">“I believe I can translate,” Beatrice replies. “I think she said Crim sent her here to get some B-Roll of the party and that she never gets a night off with that … woman.” She looks up at Camila. “Is Crim coming?”</p><p class="p1">“Nah,” Camila answers. “Ah cam alone 'n' ah will lea alone, 'n' tis juist as weel. Crim’s a pain in th' bahookie!”</p><p class="p1">“Perhaps you should come down,” Beatrice suggests. “I’m sure you must have enough footage by now.”</p><p class="p1">Camila relents, and allows Beatrice to hold her camera while she climbs down from the stool.</p><p class="p1">“Now, be careful,” Beatrice says. “Can we put you in a taxi?”</p><p class="p1">Ava can’t help feeling soft at the way Beatrice is being so caring to a woman she barely knows.</p><p class="p1">But Camila doesn’t want to go. So Ava and Beatrice leave her to wander the room, taking B-roll at eye level.</p><p class="p1">“She seems a little stressed out,” Ava comments.</p><p class="p1">“Crim seems hard to work for,” Beatrice responds.</p><p class="p1">Ava looks around. It’s getting a little stuffy in here. “Listen,” she says, “it’s getting hot in here for me, and the music is kind of loud, and I don’t know how to dance to it, and all I really want to do is talk to you, anyway. Do you wanna go for a walk?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiles. “Of course.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*****</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Out on the street, in the evening cool, Ava is able to breathe a bit more freely. She takes a moment to appreciate Beatrice’s face, her simple black turtleneck and trousers, the unobtrusive pearl earrings. “You look nice,” she says.</p><p class="p1">“So do you. Even with crème fraîche in your bra.”</p><p class="p1">They both snicker at the utter stupidity of it.</p><p class="p1">The breezes are mild, and the Champs-Élysées is sparkling with white lights in the trees. They are within spitting distance of the Arc de Triomphe. The moon is especially clear. Ava is feeling bold, because it’s Paris, and she’s walking with a pretty girl under the starry sky, and everything is beautiful. She takes Beatrice’s hand. Beatrice curls her fingers around Ava’s.</p><p class="p1">“So, is your boss going to yell at you for fraternizing with the competition?” Ava asks.</p><p class="p1">“I suspect your boss is going to be keeping her busy with her own attempts at fraternizing.”</p><p class="p1">Ava chuckles. “Well, she’s sure gonna try. I mean, Lily is gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but she seems a little intense.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiles. “She is. But, she’s more than my boss. She’s my friend. And we have our own history. I wasn’t very used to the world when we met. She helped me make a place for myself in it.”</p><p class="p1">Ava is intrigued. “What does that mean?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiles enigmatically. “Are you sure you want to hear boring life stories?”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, please! Give me all of the boring life stories, I want them.”</p><p class="p1">“I grew up in a Zen monastery. My father was the roshi, and I grew up there and was educated there from the time I was very small.”</p><p class="p1">“Woah, no shit. So like, in…” Ava flounders. She’s not exactly sure where Beatrice is from. “…like, Asia somewhere?” It sounds stupid. Oh well.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice laughs. “No, there’s a rather large monastery in Hertfordshire.”</p><p class="p1">“England?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes.”</p><p class="p1">They continue strolling toward the Arc de Triomphe, which is illuminated in warm gold and white.</p><p class="p1">“I left when I was sixteen.”</p><p class="p1">“Because you wanted to date girls?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice gives her that faint little smile. “No.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, why then?”</p><p class="p1">“You’ll laugh.”</p><p class="p1">“Ugh, don’t be so… inscrutable!”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice purses her mouth, and playfully tugs at Ava’s hand. “Inscrutable? That’s a bit racist, you know.”</p><p class="p1">“Mysterious, then. Tell me!”</p><p class="p1">They slow down as they enter the circle of light around the monument.</p><p class="p1">“I left because I loved food too much.”</p><p class="p1">Ava lets out a snort. “Are you serious?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice nods. “A Zen Buddhist lifestyle is fairly abstemious. One eats for sustenance rather than pleasure. But a love of the pleasure of good food resided in my soul. There was nothing I could do but pursue it into the world.”</p><p class="p1">Ava stops, and turns to look at Beatrice. She’s luminous. She’s probably the most astonishing girl Ava’s been anywhere near.</p><p class="p1">“Stop twitching,” Beatrice says softly. “Relax.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t do that.”</p><p class="p1">“You can if you want.” Beatrice takes Ava’s hands, holds them up between them. “Close your eyes.”</p><p class="p1">Ava obediently closes them.</p><p class="p1">“Just clear your mind.”</p><p class="p1">“That part’s easy,” Ava snickers.</p><p class="p1">“I doubt that very much,” Beatrice responds. “No thoughts. Just listen. Listen to the traffic. Listen to the distant jazz. Listen to my voice. Exist in the moment. Feel the breeze. My hands in yours. Feel the Metro rumbling under your feet. Don’t think about them. Just experience them. Take them in. Be part of the world and everything in it. Breathe. In, and then out. Feel your breath. Match it to mine.”</p><p class="p1">Ava feels herself unravel at the sound of Beatrice’s voice, and amazingly, for a moment, she stops thinking and just exists. Here, beneath the gleaming Arc de Triomphe, she is simply still, and quiet, and part of Paris, and the world. They breathe together. Ava is convinced that Beatrice is magic.</p><p class="p1">She opens her eyes. “You got me to stay still for a minute there,” she marvels.</p><p class="p1">“Good. I can’t very well kiss a moving target.”</p><p class="p1">Ava kisses her. She’s delicious. She tastes like good wine. They stay that way for a few minutes, just existing in that moment.</p><p class="p1">And then they hear: “Noo that's whit ah ca' beauty! True loue if ah ever saw sic a thing!”</p><p class="p1">They turn. Camila has wandered after them, and is filming them.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice and Ava look at each other.</p><p class="p1">“Hey, Camila, can we put you in a cab?”</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Meanwhile, back at the bar....</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Lilith doesn’t quite understand what Beatrice finds so charming about the American. She’s pretty, yes, but even from here, Lilith can tell she’s saying something absurd. Although, Lilith is forced to admit as she sips from the glass that Ava brought her, she does have reasonably good taste in wine, at the very least.</p><p class="p1">“You don’t get it, do you,” Mary says pleasantly.</p><p class="p1">“Get what?”</p><p class="p1">“Ava.”</p><p class="p1">Lilth shakes her head. “Where did you ever find her?”</p><p class="p1">“My grandmother fostered her when we were growing up in New Orleans. So we’re like sisters, pretty much. For good or bad, I’m stuck with her. But it’s alright. She’s got a gift for this stuff. Even if she can’t keep her damn whites clean and is full of jokes so bad I would be within my rights to shoot her.”</p><p class="p1">Sentimental. Lilith finds it rather sweet, in its way. “Still, I don’t think I could run a kitchen with someone so chaotic as my sous.”</p><p class="p1">Mary shrugs. “We make it work. I mean, she’s no Beatrice, but she’s a natural talent and I’m trying like hell to put the screws to her to make a real chef out of her. I won’t lie, she’s a challenge. There are days I wish I had someone who wouldn’t add surprises to my mise en place and would actually call me “Chef” when we’re working.”</p><p class="p1">Mary’s chuckle is so easy as she says this. Lilith isn’t sure why she flushes a little as Mary says this. She never had to ask Beatrice to address her that way. Beatrice intuitively understood that it was necessary. When they’re not working, it’s “Lily” in mixed company, and sometimes “Lilith” when they’re alone. Beatrice never had to be told how important the professional respect was. “I suppose I could be more appreciative of what I’ve got.”</p><p class="p1">The band is really starting to cook now, and people are beginning to get to swing dancing in the very small open space in the back of the place.</p><p class="p1">“Wanna dance?” Mary says.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know how to swing dance,” Lilith says. This is a lie. Lilith has taken a few years’ worth of dance classes. She’s more than competent. She’s just a little unnerved at the thought of dancing with Mary.She prefers to keep her competitive distance.</p><p class="p1">“That’s okay.” Mary is persistent. “I can lead. You can follow, can’t you?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith points to where Ava and Beatrice stand at the bar. “I think Ava’s about to–”</p><p class="p1">Mary turns around just in time to witness Ava dropping a canapé down the front of her shirt. She doubles over with laughter. Lilith can’t help laughing a bit too.</p><p class="p1">“She thought she was gonna show cleavage tonight to be enticing,” Mary chortles. “Unless Beatrice feels like diving after that canapé…” She wipes tears of laughter from her face.</p><p class="p1">“Are you all right?” Lilith asks.</p><p class="p1">“I’m fine,” Mary says, still laughing. She leans a little closer to Lilith and asks, “Look, be honest. Does Ava have a shot? She’s really over the moon about your girl, there.”</p><p class="p1">What is that scent, Lilith wonders. Mary’s wearing something that smells a little like cinnamon and cloves and something else. She smiles faintly. “All I can tell you for certain is that Beatrice thinks she’s… and I quote… cute.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, that’s not nothing.”</p><p class="p1">“I suppose not.” Lilith sips her wine. Over Mary’s shoulder, she notices Camila the camera op, perched atop a stool. “Oh, that looks like a terrible idea.”</p><p class="p1">Mary turns around, sees her, and cringes. “Yeah. Should we do something?”</p><p class="p1">“Do what?”</p><p class="p1">But there’s no need. Beatrice and Ava are already making their way over and apparently reasoning with a rather tipsy Camila. Mary nods her approval. “Well, good thing they’ve got it in hand.”</p><p class="p1">“What are you making tomorrow?” Lilith asks.</p><p class="p1">Mary smirks. “Why, so you can change your recipe card?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith laughs. “There’s no time for that.”</p><p class="p1">Mary glances at her watch. “Technically, you still have an hour if you wanted to submit a change in your recipe.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith shakes her head.</p><p class="p1">Mary holds a hand out. “Come on. Dance with me, and I’ll tell you.”</p><p class="p1">At this moment, the song ends, and the band slows down.</p><p class="p1">“See? Now it’s a slow one. You can handle that.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith drains the rest of her glass, quite sure this is a bad idea, but unable to muster a no. She takes Mary’s hand and follows her over to where the others are dancing. Mary puts a hand on Lilith’s waist, takes her other hand in hand, and leads them so confidently that Lilith suddenly thinks she may be in trouble. “You really do know how to do this,” she comments.</p><p class="p1">“Of course. Did you think I was playing?” Mary is very studiously keeping a few inches between them, and Lilith is both disappointed and not. “But then, you know how to do it, too, don’t you?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith blushes again. “Can you tell?”</p><p class="p1">“Baby, I’ve danced with a lot of girls, and I can tell when I’ve got one who knows what she’s doing.”</p><p class="p1">“I see.”</p><p class="p1">“Were you scared to dance with me?”</p><p class="p1">“Of course not.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, I see. Scared you might have fun, then.”</p><p class="p1">The wine loosens Lilith’s tongue a bit. “I know how to have fun,” she objects.</p><p class="p1">They are dancing far enough apart that they can easily look each other directly in the face. Lilith finds this both lovely and maddening. “Beatrice seemed to need to remind you,” Mary parries.</p><p class="p1">Mary guides them in their tight steps in the limited space. “I prefer to keep some competitive distance, that’s all,” Lilith says.</p><p class="p1">Mary looks down at the space between them, and back up at Lilith’s face. “Is this enough competitive distance?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith doesn’t know what to say. Wine also loosens other things, and in truth the space is feeling like a bit too much. “For now,” she says. “So. I’m dancing with you now. So tell me. What are you making tomorrow?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not telling you till the deadline passes.”</p><p class="p1">“That wasn’t part of the agreement!”</p><p class="p1">Mary cackles. “But I got you to dance with me.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith frowns at her.</p><p class="p1">“And you’re having a good time, whether you want to admit it or not.”</p><p class="p1">She is. Lilith hates to admit it, but Mary is charming. “All right. If you won’t tell me what you’re making, can you at least tell me whether you’re using that ridiculous California Chardonnay instead of any of the perfectly excellent French wines you could get right here?”</p><p class="p1">“I am.”</p><p class="p1">“But why?”</p><p class="p1">“Because it’s what the dish calls for. Maybe French wines are better, or maybe they aren’t, but they’re different. A French version of the exact same varietal will still be different. Because it was grown somewhere different. Absorbed its environment. Got blended in ways that are particular to the soil and air and weather. California chardonnay has more fruit aromas up front. It may not be a better wine, but it’s better for what I want to do with it.”</p><p class="p1">“I remain skeptical.”</p><p class="p1">“You’ll see.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith catches herself looking at Mary’s lips and looks away. “I’m sure.”</p><p class="p1">They move gently together for a few minutes. Mary’s gaze is unbreaking, and Lilith looks up and then looks away several times before Mary leans forward and says softly in her ear, “You tired of this competitive distance yet?”</p><p class="p1"><em>It’s the wine, it’s the wine, it’s the wine, </em>Lilith thinks over and over. Surely she’s not going mad for this smart-ass American. “What’s the alternative?”</p><p class="p1">“Competitive closeness?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith swallows. She closes her eyes. Mary is still keeping a respectable distance between them. “What does that involve, exactly?”</p><p class="p1">“We get real close,” Mary murmurs, “and we see who can make who feel better.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith closes the distance between their bodies and whispers into Mary’s ear, “Are you sure you’re not just saying that to keep me busy until the deadline?”</p><p class="p1">“I would like to keep you busy for much longer than that.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith wants to blame the wine, but the fact is that Mary is magnetic, that there is intensity underneath all that chill, all that laid-back cool. And Lilith wants to know what it’s like.</p><p class="p1">A few moments later, Lilith is dragging Mary out the front door. She glances up the block and sees that Ava and Beatrice have made their way toward L’Arc de Triomphe and are quite preoccupied there. She also sees that Camila is standing in the street with her camera, looking a little lost.</p><p class="p1">Lilith pushes Mary back against the side of the building that houses the bar. Her heart is beating a little too hard. “Do you really intend to block me from changing my recipe?”</p><p class="p1">Mary laughs. “Baby, change your recipe, or don’t. It doesn’t matter to me either way. I don’t care what you do about it. I just want you to have a good time. That’s it. That’s all.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith presses herself into Mary, brings her face to within a half inch of Mary’s. “Is that so?”</p><p class="p1">“I swear.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith closes the distance and kisses her.</p><p class="p1">Mary’s mouth is every bit as luscious as she wanted to pretend it wasn’t, every bit as delicious as she had acted like it couldn’t possibly be. Mary kisses like she dances; confident, she’s done it before and knows what works. And just like dancing, Lilith knows her way around this arena too. Mary’s hands slide up to her face, and she holds Lilith there, in the kiss, like she’s drinking a long draught of something wonderful. Lilith gets her hands into Mary’s blazer and curls her fingers into her ribcage, and they stay like this for God only knows how long. Neither of them is tentative.</p><p class="p1">“What if I beat you tomorrow?” Lilith mumbles breathlessly.</p><p class="p1">“Will I still be allowed to do this?” Mary asks. “Cause if yes, then I don’t care.”</p><p class="p1">They lose themselves in each other for a minute.</p><p class="p1">Then Mary disengages long enough to ask, “What if I beat you tomorrow?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith stops. She hadn’t really considered this. Losing was never an option. Lilith plays to win, always. She let herself be charmed by Mary, and now she’s here, actually confronting the idea of whether she’d be able to handle losing to a woman she likes so much more than she wants to.</p><p class="p1">Mary looks wry. “That’s what I thought.” She shakes her head. “I really want to bring you back to my room, but not if it’s going to be a thing tomorrow.”</p><p class="p1">“It won’t,” Lilith says quickly. She doesn’t know if she means it. But she wants to go with Mary. Let tomorrow be a problem for tomorrow, she thinks.</p><p class="p1">Mary looks skeptical.</p><p class="p1">“Text Ava,” Lilith says. “Tell her I’m coming back with you.”</p><p class="p1">Mary considers her for a minute. Lilith can tell that she has her doubts. But they’re caught up in a moment now, and Mary doesn’t want to break it any more than Lilith does. “Fuck it,” Mary mutters, and takes out her phone.</p><p class="p1">Lilith can see up the block that in the intervening time, Camila has made her way up to where Beatrice and Ava are, and there seems to be some sort of racket going on. But she trusts Beatrice to handle it.</p><p class="p1">She peeks at Mary’s phone as she types: <em>I don’t care where you go but the room is mine tonight. Lilith is coming back with me.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">After ushering tipsy Camila into a big black taxi, Ava and Beatrice stand in the middle of the broad sidewalk, looking at each other.</p><p class="p1">“Do you think she’ll be all right?” Ava wonders.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice nods. “She didn’t seem so out of it that she couldn’t manage a cab ride and a room key.”</p><p class="p1">Ava’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She glances at it. It’s a text from Mary:</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I don’t care where you go but the room is mine tonight. Lilith is coming back with me.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ava cackles. “Holy shit.”</p><p class="p1">“Hm?”</p><p class="p1">“Well, Mary is bringing Lily back to our room as we speak.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice looks like she’s swallowing a laugh. “Well, then. That happened a bit faster than I expected.”</p><p class="p1">“You expected it?”</p><p class="p1">“You didn’t?”</p><p class="p1">They chuckle a little, and then stand awkwardly for a moment.</p><p class="p1">“So,” Beatrice observes, looking thoughtfully at Ava, “it would appear you’re in exile.”</p><p class="p1">Ava nods. If she has a chance right now, she doesn’t want to blow it. But she doesn’t want to play it overly cool, either. Normally, she’d be babbling away right now, making dumb jokes and trying to show Beatrice how charming she is. But she doesn’t. She waits. She waits to see what Beatrice is going to say.</p><p class="p1">“Do you have any idea where you’ll go tonight?”</p><p class="p1">Ava smirks a little. “I don’t know. Back of a Métro car, maybe?”</p><p class="p1">Now Beatrice’s face betrays her own amusement. “Awfully noisy, don’t you think?”</p><p class="p1">Ava shrugs.</p><p class="p1">“I do know someplace quieter,” Beatricecontinues. “If you’d like.”</p><p class="p1">Ava raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Where’s that?”</p><p class="p1">“Well, Lily is gone this evening. You could come stay in our suite if you like.”</p><p class="p1">She’s so calm. Something else has taken over now. “I don’t know,” Ava says. “You’re a beautiful woman. I’m not sure I would trust myself to stay in my own bed.”</p><p class="p1">The weight between each of their statements is like the pull of gravity. Each pause is laden with meaning and care. It feels like an eternity of staring into her dark eyes before Beatrice says, “Who says you’d have to?”</p><p class="p1">Ava’s heart leaps. Her insides bubble. She kisses Beatrice in the middle of the sidewalk because she absolutely cannot stand another second of this ridiculous tension. “Let’s get a cab.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">******</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mary knows the room is small and probably not nearly as nice as whatever chi-chi place Lily is probably staying. But the lights aren’t going to be on very long if she has anything to say about it. And it turns out that Lily has the same idea. Their clothes stay on for less than five minutes.</p><p class="p1">Lily is demanding, but her demands are for Mary to take charge of her, overwhelm her. She’s a handful and a half, but Mary likes it that way. Whatever anxieties and insecurities Lily may labor under, she knows she looks beautiful naked, and she knows that Mary has been wanting to have her this way since the first time they laid eyes on each other.</p><p class="p1">The first time, it’s aggressive and sweet, and they both have something to prove. Lily pushes, provokes, and Mary pushes back. Lily loves it when Mary pushes back. Mary loves seeing Lily’s eyes smolder when she pushes back the right way.</p><p class="p1">The second time, it’s more playful; Mary refrains from giving in to Lily’s provocations, decides she’s going to take her how she wants to take her and that Lily’s going to lay back and like it. But Lily knows that her authority is as much a game as not, and Mary knows that Lily likes the game, and they exhaust each other on into the night.</p><p class="p1">The third time is slow and savoring. Mary has the taste of Lily all over her hands and mouth, her muscles are sore from pinning her down, from squeezing her, pressing against her. She simply wants to give Lily the good time she so clearly needs, without the games, without the push and pull. Lily winds up slowly, comes gently, and lays liquid in Mary’s arms afterward.</p><p class="p1">“Lily?” Mary says sleepily.</p><p class="p1">“Hm?”</p><p class="p1">“What’s the deal with your name?”</p><p class="p1">Lily yawns. “Oh, I’m divorced.”</p><p class="p1">“But you kept the name?”</p><p class="p1">“Long story,” Lily sighs. “I’ll tell you later.”</p><p class="p1">Mary accepts this, and dozes for a little while.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">********</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Lilith wakes up in the night to find Mary sitting up in bed.</p><p class="p1">“You all right?”</p><p class="p1">Mary is staring at a sliver of moon tucked in the upper corner of the window. “Yeah, I’m good.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith worries about how she will feel about any of this when the daylight comes, but for now, they’re still safe. “Do you… do this a lot?”</p><p class="p1">Mary turns and looks at her. “Do what?”</p><p class="p1">“Take women to bed who you barely know.”</p><p class="p1">Mary gives her a wry smile. “You mean, are you special.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith frowns. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”</p><p class="p1">“No, but it’s what you mean. You don’t care about whether I sleep around, but you care about what it means that I wanted to sleep with <em>you</em>.” She lays down in the bed, and gives her a kiss on the forehead. “It’s been about six months since my last relationship,” she says, “and I haven’t been to bed with anyone till now. So yes. You are special. Happy?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith, somewhere in her mind, is annoyed with herself for caring about it. But she is happy. In truth, it’s been a bit longer than that for her, and though she’s been irritated with the American, she also can’t recall the last time she felt so intensely attracted to someone. Even from that night when Mary and Ava tried to approach her and Beatrice in the wine bar. Her competitiveness overwhelmed it then, but even then she’d felt the tug of wanting something from Mary that she hadn’t wanted in a while. “Actually, yes.”</p><p class="p1">Mary settles back into the bed and nudges her leg in between Lilith’s, and presses herself close. “Good.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith likes that Mary doesn’t ask some variation of “was it good for you too?” She doesn’t need to. It was obviously good. They were compatible. They balanced each other just so. Lilith thinks she could stand to have a bit more of this in her life.</p><p class="p1">As they drift off again, wrapped up in each other, Lilith asks, “Mary?”</p><p class="p1">“Hm?”</p><p class="p1">“What are you making tomorrow?”</p><p class="p1">Mary snorts. “Fine. Grilled octopus, eggplant black musto oil, burrata–basil émulsion.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith yawns. “That sounds really good.”</p><p class="p1">They drift back to sleep.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">********</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">"Come quickly - I am drinking the stars," Dom Pérignon supposedly said when he invented the first champagne. Whether this is true or not, Beatrice knows that there is something to the gentle fizz of bubbles across one’s tongue that makes it a peculiar delight.</p><p class="p1">Ava, Beatrice decides, is bubbles in champagne.</p><p class="p1">She looks at the sleeping woman next to her, her contented smile, and she’s filled with a sort of frothy happiness. Ava had been sweet, appreciative, free with her admiration and absurdly easy to please. “I’m just happy to be on the team,” she had joked at one point.</p><p class="p1">Ava is the lightness to Beatrice’s calm weight. She’s the ripples in Beatrice’s still water. Ava is clearly not used to people taking her seriously, and the fact that Beatrice does so is clearly enough to make this encounter mean something to her.</p><p class="p1">But it is significant for Beatrice too. Beatrice does nothing that is not worth doing, and that includes Ava.</p><p class="p1">She is not so foolish as to think that this can continue after the contest is over, but it doesn’t render it meaningless. Tasting joy is never meaningless.</p><p class="p1">She hopes idly that Lilith is enjoying her night with Mary. She turns over in bed and calls downstairs for an early wakeup call. She knows Lilith well enough to know that if she has a good enough time tonight, that she will forget to do it, and then there will be a ten a.m. phone call in which Lilith is upset about everything and angry at Beatrice for letting her go off and do something so irresponsible as have fun.</p><p class="p1">Ava stirs a little. “Hey, what’re you doing?”</p><p class="p1">“Protecting my boss from herself.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re a good friend.”</p><p class="p1">“So, it seems, are you.”</p><p class="p1">They curl up together, to drift off into the little bit of soft, sleepy naked time they have left.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ava’s dreams mainly consist of replaying the night before, again and again. Sometimes it includes the stuff from the bar, but mostly it’s Beatrice lying on top of her, breathing with her, smiling softly at her through long stretches of unbroken eye contact, making love to her as slowly as flowers bloom, taking nothing for herself. She wakes up to the ring of the room telephone, which Beatrice answers, says softly, “Thank you,” and hangs up.</p><p class="p1">Ava rolls over. “What time is it?”</p><p class="p1">“Seven.”</p><p class="p1">Ava whines. “Why so early?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice turns over to face her again, looks at Ava with that beautiful, serious look, and says, “Ava, a good sous, a good second, isn’t only there to do as the chef says. She’s there to anticipate the chef’s needs, and have a care for the many things that the chef cannot handle even if she would like to.”</p><p class="p1">Ava listens with rapt attention. “Uh-huh.”</p><p class="p1">“Lily may have been swept up in Mary’s charm last night, but I know her. She’ll be angry with herself this morning. It will be my job to wake her and sweep her out of the room before her exit is too disastrous. And it will be your job to soften the blow of disappointment for Mary, who I suspect will be hurt by Lily’s unceremonious exit. I’ll need you to help me with both of these things.”</p><p class="p1">“Ooof,” Ava says. “Lily seems like a lot of maintenance. I’m glad Mary doesn’t need so much.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiles patiently, and Ava instantly feels silly. “Mary may not need it, but she will be the better for having it. Get dressed?”</p><p class="p1">Ava nods. As Ava gets dressed, Beatrice slides into some soft, casual clothes and moves around the room, gathering assorted items into a little rucksack. She’s graceful and effortless as she moves. Ava suddenly can’t imagine how she will breathe again without luxuriating in this woman’s presence. She follows her to the door, and just as Beatrice is about top open it, Ava catches her by the wrist. “Wait, I just wanna say something.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice stops, and gives Ava her full attention. Her full attention feels like so much. “Of course.”</p><p class="p1">“I think I’m in love with you.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice’s eyes dance with amusement. “You couldn’t possibly be. We’ve just met. But last night meant a great deal to me,” she says sincerely, “and I would like to see you like this again before we part ways.”</p><p class="p1">Ava is simultaneously ecstatic at the thought that they might repeat last night, and wounded at the prospect that they will ultimately part ways. “Yeah, of course. And maybe next time, you’ll let me do something for you.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice’s smile is so sweet. “It’s not necessary,” she says, and kisses Ava briefly on the lips. Then she becomes businesslike. “Let’s go.”</p><p class="p1">The taxi ride is awkward as they sit beside each other, Ava wanting desperately to make out with her on the whole ride there, but knowing it’s not really 7:30 a.m. behavior. They have a job to do now. <em>Last night meant a great deal to me,</em> she had said. She turns that phrase over and over in her mind until the thought is worn smooth.</p><p class="p1">Ava lets herself in with the key. Lily and Mary are still curled up in bed, asleep. Beatrice sighs behind her.After a moment of casting about on the floor, she goes to the bedside and jostles her. “Lily,” she says gently, “you’ve got to get up. We’ve got things to attend to. The catering supply shorted us on the peppers and we need to work out what to do.”</p><p class="p1">Lily sits up in bed and looks around, panicked. Ava turns her back and stares out the window. Lily clears her throat.</p><p class="p1">“Here are your clothes,” Beatrice says, in her gentle but forceful way.</p><p class="p1">Ava hears Mary groan and shift in bed. “Where you going?”</p><p class="p1">“Sorry, Chef,” Ava says, “Beatrice says they have some kind of supply emergency, they gotta go.”</p><p class="p1">Mary grunts.</p><p class="p1">This is followed by the sounds of Lily’s clothing rustling as she reassembles herself. Ava turns around. Beatrice presents Lily with a to-go cup of coffee, Lily mumbles her thanks, and they scurry out the door.</p><p class="p1">“I’ll see you later,” Mary calls after her.</p><p class="p1">“Of course,” Lily says over her shoulder, but they are already in the hallway.</p><p class="p1">Mary sits up, not particularly concerned with covering up. Ava has seen Mary’s tits enough times that she doesn’t particularly care. She presents Mary with a takeout cup of coffee as well.</p><p class="p1">Mary looks at it suspiciously. “You brought me coffee?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah. You’re welcome.”</p><p class="p1">“You have a nice night with Beatrice?” She sips her drink.</p><p class="p1">“I think I’m in love.”</p><p class="p1">“No you’re not. It’s hormones.”</p><p class="p1">“Pffft. Whatever. Did you guys have fun?”</p><p class="p1">Mary nods. But she doesn’t elaborate. “So was that bum’s rush out of here just bullshit or what?”</p><p class="p1">Ava sighs. “I don’t know, maybe.”</p><p class="p1">At this moment, Mary looks down suspiciously at the coffee. “You brought me coffee without being asked. You called me Chef. Maybe you <em>should</em> keep sleeping with Beatrice.”</p><p class="p1">“Look, I mean you probably figured it out, but Lily is pretty high maintenance, so Beatrice just wanted to give her a chance to have her panic attack by herself, instead of with you.”</p><p class="p1">Mary cackles, but there’s a little bitterness around the edges, a little burnt sugar. “She thought I didn’t know Lily was a head case?”</p><p class="p1">Ava shrugs. “I don’t know. Beatrice knows her. And I trust Beatrice. So.” She sits down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know if you’re catching feels over here or what, but just know that I’ve got your back. And y’know… I’ve got a man on the inside.” She winks stupidly. Mary, despite herself, smiles a little.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*****</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">By the time they arrive at the convention center, it’s 10:30 and they need to begin their prep immediately. The eggplant needs to be sauteed before it can be whipped into the oil with the black olives, and the octopus needs to go into the wine. Crimson and Camila are already roaming the floor, Crim glad-handing everyone and Camila looking a little worse for wear. They come by where Mary and Ava are working. “Morning, ladies,” Crimson says cheerily. Mary nods an acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else.</p><p class="p1">“Hi,” Ava says.</p><p class="p1">“So what’re you making today?” Crimson asks pleasantly.</p><p class="p1">Ava wonders whether she’d see the crazy in this chick’s eyes if she didn’t already know it was there. “Grilled octopus,” Ava says. She winks over at Camila, who peeps out from behind the viewfinder and winks back.</p><p class="p1">“With?” Crimson prompts.</p><p class="p1">Mary, clearly feeling put-upon, volunteers, “Grilled octopus, eggplant black olive musto oil, burrata-basil emulsion.”</p><p class="p1">“Octopus,” Crimson says, “another daring choice from Team America. How will you be preparing it for grilling.”</p><p class="p1">Mary normally isn’t one to shy away from cameras, but she’s clearly still feeling put off by the abruptness of Lily’s retreat this morning. “We soak it in California chardonnay, the aggressive fruit notes up front on the wine pair well with the texture of the octopus and mellow nicely when grilled.” It’s the truth, but she sounds like she’s reading cue cards.</p><p class="p1">“Well, that sounds like a true delight, best of luck to you, Team America,” Crimson says, and she moves on to Lily and Beatrice’s station.</p><p class="p1">Lily hasn’t looked over once since they arrived a little while ago, and they’re all too busy to take time out to try and have a conversation. Beatrice makes eye contact with Ava once or twice, and her faint smile is enough to calm Ava’s nerves. Mary is suprised when she turns around to ask Ava to start slicing the eggplant that she’s already doing it. </p><p class="p1">“That’s cool,” she says, “but get the wine out of the fridge, we gotta get the octopus in there.”</p><p class="p1">“OK, Chef,” Ava says. She smirks to herself because she knows Mary is surprised by it again.</p><p class="p1">Ava goes to the steel refrigerator at their workstation and opens it, but there is no wine. Her heart speeds up. From top to bottom, she checks it again. It’s not there. They brought it on the plane. They carried here the very first day. She remembers. Lily gave them shit about it.</p><p class="p1">“It’s not here, Chef!” she calls.</p><p class="p1">“The fuck you mean it’s not here?” Mary calls back, almost cutting herself as she slices the eggplant.</p><p class="p1">“It’s not here!”</p><p class="p1">Mary lays the knife down in exasperation and comes running over. Indeed, after a moment of inspecting their carefully laid-out shelves, she confirms that it isn’t there.</p><p class="p1">“What now?” Ava asks.</p><p class="p1">Mary’s breathing is hard. She looks angry. Ava is suddenly worried. Mary is glaring over at Lily and Beatrice’s station, where they’re prepping what looks like duck.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, no,” Ava groans. “Mary, you don’t think–”</p><p class="p1">“She made such a big damn deal about that wine,” Mary seethes. “She kept asking me about it. I finally told her what it was for.” She starts marching over there.</p><p class="p1">Ava scurries along in her wake, trying not to be too conspicuous as she urges, “Chef, Chef, I don’t think we should–”</p><p class="p1">Mary stops short and snaps at her. “Don’t Chef me! We have a problem.”</p><p class="p1">She stomps up to Lily and demands, “Where the fuck is my wine?”</p><p class="p1">Lily looks genuinely gobsmacked, then indignant. “How should I know? It’s not my fault if you can’t keep track of your ingredients.”</p><p class="p1">“You kept asking me about it! You wouldn’t let up about what I was making today. I trusted you last night, Lily!”</p><p class="p1">Ava is panicking. Mary looks genuinely hurt. Beatrice’s hand on Ava’s harm draws her attention away for a moment, and when Ava turns to look at her, she gestures to where Crimson is standing a few feet away, and Camila’s got the camera rolling on this miserable tableau.</p><p class="p1">The two sous chefs nod at each other and gently approach their own chefs. They gesture over to where Crimson is standing. She waves at them with an overly pleased smile.</p><p class="p1">“She did this,” Lily growls.</p><p class="p1">Mary looks torn. But then, it was too easy to believe that if Crimson were going to sabotage them, that this is something she would do. To create drama, was what Beatrice had said. This had certainly done that and probably give Crim more than she had even hoped.</p><p class="p1">“I would <em>never</em> want to win by cheating,” Lily adds, looking hurt. “And besides… I wanted to taste your dish the way it was meant to taste. You’re good. Don’t you know that?”</p><p class="p1">Mary stands there, looking ashamed, overwrought, and angry with herself. “Lily…”</p><p class="p1">Lily puts a hand up. “Don’t.” She looks over at Beatrice. “It’s not your precious California chardonnay, but we’ve got an extra bottle of a rather fruity Viognier of you want it. Beatrice, will you see to it?”</p><p class="p1">“Oui, Chef,” Beatrice says, runs to their fridge, and produces the wine.</p><p class="p1">“Thank you,” Ava says, looking Lily directly in the eye. She can’t get over how wounded Lily looks at the idea that Mary would have accused her of taking the wine.She accepts the wine from Beatrice and ushers Mary back over to their station.</p><p class="p1">They have no time to lose.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Cooking has begun in earnest.</p><p class="p1">Lilith is is singularly focused. The floor is oddly quiet, as the eight remaining teams bang and scrape and sizzle away at their dishes; there is the soft murmur of the commentators and the occasional clipped instruction from chef to sous, but little apart from that.</p><p class="p1">She has been through a series of whiplash emotions this morning: confusion at being awakened by Beatrice, panic (expected) at remembering that she’d gone to bed with Mary last night, embarassment at her ignominious exit, and then just simple hurt at being accused of stealing Mary’s wine. She’s angry about that, too, but she can’t allow any of this to get in her way now.</p><p class="p1">She wonders as she preps the duckling whether she should have given Mary that bottle of wine or let her hang. But Crimson standing there gleefully as Camila filmed their dust-up virtually guaranteed that she was responsible for the theft of the chardonnay. She wasn’t about to give that bitch a victory, hurt feelings or not.</p><p class="p1">So she cleans the ducklings. She removes the giblets and rinses them under cold water, then stuffs the cavities with wedges of lemon, garlic and herbs. Beatrice is preparing the honey-balsamic glaze that she will brush over the ducklings before putting them in to roast. They will come out crisp, a beautiful deep red, and she is confident that it will be attractive enough to advance to the next round. “Safe,” she fears Mme. Masters will say, but she can’t bring herself to fight the pull of going with what she knows works. And a beautiful, perfectly-charred-around-the-edges, ruby-red roast duckling absolutely works.</p><p class="p1">Of course, she was too busy in Mary’s bed last night to concern herself with changing the recipe anyway.</p><p class="p1">Lilith, like Mary, brought a few of her own tools to competition; in particular, she will not be parted from her silicone utensils from Williams-Sonoma. She has a set in her kitchen at home. She ties the ducklings’ legs and hands Beatrice the utensils and instructs her to begin working on prep for the endives with orange zest.</p><p class="p1">She’s relieved to see that Crimson is hovering over at JC and Chanel’s station. She relaxes into the rhythm of cooking and is able to forget the drama for a few minutes. She begins heating the oven, and with a silicone brush, begins painting Beatrice’s honey-balsamic glaze all over the outside of the duck. The sweet and tart of the glaze will balance each other nicely, but mostly the glaze is there for the color that it will be when it comes out of the oven.</p><p class="p1">By the time the oven is hot enough, Lilith has finished her prep and Beatrice is wrapping up her mise en place for the endives: the cleaned endives, orange zest, olive oil, flaky sea salt, and another small dish of fresh juice from the orange that she zested.</p><p class="p1">The endives will not take long, and they must be fresh out of the pan when served with the duck, so they wait a bit. Lilith takes a stab at conversation.</p><p class="p1">“Seems your evening went well.”</p><p class="p1">“Yours too, I imagine. It’s your morning that concerns me.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m fine.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice says nothing. She gives Lilith that look that says she’s accepting her words, but doesn’t really believe them.</p><p class="p1">Lilith huffs. “Alright, I’m not fine. I enjoyed myself far too much. I’m having a lot of … <em>feelings</em> at present.” She says <em>feelings</em> with such irritation and disdain that even serious Beatrice cracks a little smile.</p><p class="p1">“It happens to the best of us, Chef.”</p><p class="p1">“Not to you.”</p><p class="p1">“That I don’t discuss my feelings doesn’t mean I don’t have them.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith looks archly at her. “Do you?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice shakes her head. “This is not about me, Chef. We should focus on the competition.”</p><p class="p1">She walks away and fills a pot with water for the black rice, and sets it on a burner turned up high. Lilith takes her cue and begins rinsing the rice.</p><p class="p1">She glances back at Mary and Ava’s station a few times, and neither of them makes eye contact with her. They are bustling away. The immersion blender whirs furiously. Ava seems unusually focused. Lilith hopes she gets to taste the octopus.</p><p class="p1">When the duckling is about ten minutes from being pulled out of the oven, Lilith goes and heats up a pan in which to sear the endives. The green-gold olive oil pools in the middle and spreads out as it heats. She places the first batch of endives in and they sizzle excitingly. She takes her silicone spatula and lays it flat on top of them, pressing them to the pan to get just the right bit of blackening on the sides that are face down in the pan.</p><p class="p1">Her mind is initially unable to process it when the handle of the spatula softens and bends in her hand. Beatrice, seeing this, is unable to refrain from muttering, “What the fuck?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice hands her one of the spoons, which Lilith isn’t thrilled with but is willing to make do, only the same thing happens. Beatrice opens up the drawer with the utensils that the competition provided, but it’s empty.</p><p class="p1">If they don’t get these endives out of the pan in the next sixty seconds, they will be fucked.</p><p class="p1">Lilith continues to cook the endives, drizzling the orange juice over them, while Beatrice wildly hunts for a replacement.</p><p class="p1">Lilith looks up to find Mary next to her. Wordless, she hands Lilith a spatula. Lilith takes it. She wants to say so many things but neither of them has time now.</p><p class="p1">Mary disappears, and Lilith pulls the endives from the edge of disaster.</p><p class="p1">Lilith doesn’t even need to look up to know that Crim is standing a few feet away, commenting on the spectacle, while Camila films the entire thing.</p><p class="p1">When the buzzer sounds, they have just arranged the ducklings on platters, surrounded by the seared endives with orange zest, and the black rice. The jewel tones of the platter are perfectly autumn, and Lilith thinks that she made the right choice. She finishes confident. Emotional and exhausted, she leans back against the steel counters and waits for the judges to make their rounds with the camera crews.</p><p class="p1">When they arrive, they admire the color of the duckling and the presentation of the dish, her choices of herbs and the judicious use of orange. “Delicious,” Mme. Masters says. “We will confer and then announce who will be advancing to the final round.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith thinks that the tension of waiting will probably kill her.</p><p class="p1">Ava appears with two glasses of wine. “The rest of the viognier,” she says.</p><p class="p1">“Thanks.” She looks around. “Where’s Mary?”</p><p class="p1">Ava shrugs. “I think she went to have a cigarette.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith nods. She looks at Beatrice. “If you want to get some air, you’re more than welcome. We have half an hour.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice inclines her head and smiles the way she does, and she and Ava disappear.</p><p class="p1">Fitful and restless, Lilith decides to take a walk herself. There is no question that her utensils were replaces and the drawer cleared out ahead of time. The sabotage has a more targeted and malicious feel to it than just some missing wine. And yet Mary stepped in. Good turn for a good turn, but Lilith can’t stay angry at her. Mary has made herself clear. Lilith has seen what sort of person she is.</p><p class="p1">She hopes that they both advance to the final. She wants to compete with her one last time. But she wants to clear the air between them first. Mary deserves that much.</p><p class="p1"><em>And, </em>Lilith realizes with a little surprise, <em>so do I.</em></p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tbh dangers is having a rough night, please leave nice comments &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Beatrice and Ava wander the halls of the convention center, not talking very much. Beatrice reflects that this is unusual for Ava.</p><p class="p1">“How’s Lily doing?” she finally asks.</p><p class="p1">Sighing, Beatrice answers, “She’s a bit mixed up. It’s been a while since she’s been with anyone and I don’t think she quite knows what to do with herself that she went so hard for Mary, so fast.”</p><p class="p1">Ava nods. “And… what about you?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not sure what you’re asking.”</p><p class="p1">Ava frowns. “You… you said last night meant a lot to you. What does that mean?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice clasps her hands behind her back as they walk. She looks at Ava for a moment, and then straight ahead. “I think that’s clear, isn’t it?”</p><p class="p1">But Ava is still buzzing with too much energy and isn’t satisfied with that. “It’s not, actually. <em>What</em> did it mean to you? I mean, I get it, I was probably stupid to say I was in love with you, but this is like… I don’t know what else to call it. You’re amazing. I can’t take the fact that we have to leave here and then that’s going to be it.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice stops in the middle of the large atrium they’re passing through. A shaft of sun falls on Ava’s sandy hair and makes the gold in her highlights shine. Her lips invite. She’s a pretty, ephemeral miracle that passed through her hands, and Beatrice takes each moment with her as a gift. “You’re a creature of joy. I don’t get to touch that very often. When I do, it’s meaningful, even if it’s temporary.”</p><p class="p1">But Ava is frustrated. “But why does it have to be temporary? Why can’t we try to…?”</p><p class="p1">“To what?” Beatrice asks calmly. “You have to go home to New Orleans. I have to go home to London.”</p><p class="p1">Ava bites her lip. Beatrice has come to recognize this gesture as something she does when she’s about to say something reckless. “But what if… what if I came to London?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice doesn’t understand why Ava is so sure of herself, of this, of what they shared, that she would be talking like this. “That’s absurd. You barely know me.”</p><p class="p1">“I thought you took me seriously.”</p><p class="p1">“I do.”</p><p class="p1">“Dammit, they don’t make girls like you where I come from. I never knew I wanted a girl like you till I met you!” Ava’s cheeks flush adorably, but Beatrice sees that Ava’s emotions are getting the better of her. “What do you care if I make the choice to come to London? It’s my choice. And if it’s a mistake, then it’s my mistake!”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice puts a gentle hand on Ava’s shoulder. “Ava, you would always be second to my work. That wouldn’t be enough for you.”</p><p class="p1">Ava huffs, pulls loose from Beatrice’s hand, walks a few steps away, and then turns back. “You know, I know how to use Google, and I looked up your zendo and read about your dad’s philosophy. Your whole life has been about service.” The words tumble out in a breathless torrent, now.“So you grew up there, in a life that was focused on serving in the way that you did in the monastery, and then you left, and you were lost until you found Lily, because Lily needed you. She <em>needed</em> you. You fell into the role of service because it was comfortable. You don’t take things for yourself. You wouldn’t even let me do anything for you last night and I thought it was just because you’re generous, and maybe you are, but it’s more than that. You don’t take things for yourself. But that’s dumb! You left the zendo because you loved food! You loved that pleasure! You took something for yourself, then. So why can’t you do that now?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice is startled by this diatribe, the words, the perceptiveness of Ava’s summation of her. She doesn’t have an answer. The question hammers at her heart, and she sees it all; yes, Lilith needs her, and that’s why she makes it her job to be the best second she can be. Her focus, her emphasis on service, Ava’s not wrong about any of it. Food was the one time she ever took for herself. </p><p class="p1">She feels suddenly, uncharacteristically unclear. “I’m sorry, I need to…” She doesn’t know what to say, so she just turns and darts down a hallway.</p><p class="p1">Her pulse is thudding as she walks. <em>How dare she? </em>Beatrice thinks. <em>How dare she just take apart my character this way and demand something more of me?</em></p><p class="p1">But it isn’t a demand, is it? Ava wants to give her something. She wants to give her whatever version of love she’s capable of.</p><p class="p1">She’s too lost in this line of thinking, and nearly mows down Crimson as she’s exiting a ladies’ room.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, pardon,” Crim says.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice is not having it. “You,” she says quietly.</p><p class="p1">“Hm?”</p><p class="p1">“I know what you did.”</p><p class="p1">Crimson grins a mean grin. “Do you, now?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes. I know you stole the Americans’ wine, and I know you replaced our utensils with junk that melted, and emptied the drawer at the station. I know what sabotage looks like.”</p><p class="p1">Crimson chuckles affably. “Well, my dear, maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.”</p><p class="p1">“You did,” Beatrice insists.</p><p class="p1">“Ah, alright, I did.” She leans in conspiratorially. “But honestly, didn’t I do you a favor? I know how mad that Lilith can be, she did need to be taken down a peg, don’t you think?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice takes a step back. “You did it, then?”</p><p class="p1">“I did. But don’t you think she deserved it, maybe a little?”</p><p class="p1">“And what about the Americans’ wine? Did you do that too?”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, I had nothing to do with that. But I’ve been waiting years to teach Lilith Castañeda a lesson, you can’t possibly think I’d miss my chance, do you? And look, it all turned out fine in the end.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re everything she said you were,” Beatrice spits disdainfully.</p><p class="p1">Crimson is peacocking now. “And what are you going to do about it? You can’t prove a thing!”</p><p class="p1">“This,” Beatrice says. And before she knows what she’s even doing, her fist draws back, and lands itself full force in Crimon’s stomach. She doubles over. Beatrice doesn’t feel this was enough, so she lands another in the side of her face.</p><p class="p1">“Christ, not the face!” Crimson shouts at her, stumbling to one side after the force of Beatrice’s punch. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice doesn’t care that Crimson McCarthy is twice her size. All she can think about right now is giving her a dose of what she rightly deserves. Emotions have been stirred up, and they need someplace to go, and where they appear to be going is into Beatrice’s fists.</p><p class="p1">She’s not sure how many times she hits Crimson before she feels two sets of hands on her. She looks up, and it’s Lilith and Ava. They’re pulling her away from Crim, even as she struggles and tries to lunge in for one more blow.</p><p class="p1">“Bloody hell, Beatrice,” Lilith exhorts her, “get hold of yourself.”</p><p class="p1">“Lily,” Beatrice pants, working to calm herself down, “Lily, I’m sorry…”</p><p class="p1">She takes a moment to breathe and center herself. Crim is getting up, wiping her lip, swearing, and straightening her disheveled clothing. She points a long finger at Beatrice. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that,” she growls, and stalks away down the hall.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice looks up and sees that Camila has caught the entire damned thing on camera.</p><p class="p1">“Well, that escalated quickly,” Ava says.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice is slowly coming back into herself. Her mind is clearing. She realizes that she got so angry that she actually hit someone, repeatedly. This has never happened. She doesn’t understand what’s wrong with her. She wants to curl up in a ball and weep.</p><p class="p1">Lilith looks at her watch. “They’ll be announcing in a few minutes. Ava, can you get her back to the hotel? She’s clearly not fit to be in public right now.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice starts to object, object that Lilith might need her, but Lilith silences her. “I can manage cleanup. Go.”</p><p class="p1">The chef has spoken. Defeated, Beatrice allows Ava to accompany her to a taxi.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Mary encounters Ava and Beatrice leaving the building. Beatrice looks like shit. Ava explains that she’s had some sort of incident and needs to be brought back to the hotel. “Let me know if we advance,” she calls over her shoulder, and they get into the cab.</p><p class="p1">Shaking her head, Mary walks back onto the floor. The judges are clustered to one side, getting ready to announce. Lily is alone, cleaning up her station. She looks angry and … in pain, Mary decides. Her dish must have turned out fine, it looked beautiful, Mme. Masters seemed pleased when she walked away. Maybe it’s about whatever happened with Beatrice.</p><p class="p1">She walks over. “Are you alright?”</p><p class="p1">Liliy looks up, and her dark eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “We’ve been disqualified.”</p><p class="p1">Mary gasps. “What for?”</p><p class="p1">“Beatrice got Crim to admit she sabotaged us, and… well, Beatrice has quite the left hook, it appears.”</p><p class="p1">Mary shakes her head in sympathy. “So you as a team are disqualified?”</p><p class="p1">Lily nods. “Not that it matters. It’s not as if I’d be able to find another sous now, anyway.”</p><p class="p1">At this moment, the judges come around, and they present Mary with the little card with gold embossing on it that says she is a finalist.</p><p class="p1">“Well, congratulations, you’ve beaten me,” Lily says bitterly.</p><p class="p1">Mary sighs. “You’re the only one who cared about that. If you hadn’t been disqualified, we’d be facing each other in the finals now. Who knows what would happen then?”</p><p class="p1">Lily’s chin trembles. “I can’t lie, I wanted to compete against you in the finals. I wanted to win. But I wanted to compete against you. You didn’t have to give me that spatula, you know.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, and you didn’t have to give me that wine.”</p><p class="p1">They share a long, soft look, full of regret and hope.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry I accused you of stealing the wine,” Mary says after a moment.</p><p class="p1">Lily shrugs. “Beatrice said that Crim claims she didn’t do it, but nothing else makes sense.” She looks down at her hands for a minute. “You know, I understand why you thought that, but it hurt when you said it.”</p><p class="p1">Mary shook her head. “I know it did. All I can say is, I’m sorry. Beatrice even told me very early on that you have an overdeveloped sense of honor and that it was important to you to win fairly. But you’ve been so competitive, and the way you went running away this morning like your hair was on fire… I just… I was hurt too, you know?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith hesitates, looking like she wants to say so much. “I’m sorry for that.” She sticks a hand out. “Friends?”</p><p class="p1">“With benefits?” Mary says, joking but not.</p><p class="p1">“One thing at a time,” Lily answers, pretending to be less amused than she is.</p><p class="p1">Mary takes her hand. “Friends, then.”</p><p class="p1">She takes her phone out to call Ava and let her know that they’ve advanced. Ava is not answering her phone. “Dammit, girl, pick up your phone.”</p><p class="p1">“Here, let me try Beatrice’s phone,” Lilith says. She commands her phone to call Beatrice, and it does. She, too, gets no answer.</p><p class="p1">“I kinda get the feeling your room is not a safe zone right now,” Mary chuckles.</p><p class="p1">“I’m worried. I hope she’s all right.”</p><p class="p1">“If she’s with Ava, and neither one of them is picking up the phone, I’m gonna take a wild guess that she’s all right. And if she’s not, you’ll be hearing soon enough.”</p><p class="p1">There is an awkward pause. If things had gone differently today, Mary would suggest that they go back to her room, but this isn’t feeling like the moment for that. “Let’s go get some drinks,” she says.</p><p class="p1">“Brilliant,” Lily says.</p><p class="p1">They find a wine bar around the corner and sit at a table near the open front of the place, where they can watch the foot traffic and make fun of people together.Mary orders a glass of malbec, and Lily orders a viognier.</p><p class="p1">“So,” Mary says, “what were you going to make for the dessert round?”</p><p class="p1">Lily shakes her head and laughs bitterly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She takes a long drink of her wine and then leans forward. “What’s your restaurant called, again?”</p><p class="p1">“Patois.”</p><p class="p1">“Because of the Creole and West Indian influences?”</p><p class="p1">“Uh-huh.”</p><p class="p1">“What’s the most popular menu item?”</p><p class="p1">“Summer barbajuans.” The crisp pastry turnovers are filled with spinach and a variety of cheeses, and pair well with a number of the summer wines that Patois serves.</p><p class="p1">They talk food. Just food, generally. Their passion for it. How they came to cooking it. What animated them to create. Mary reflects that Lily is far more pleasant when she’s not concerned about winning.</p><p class="p1">“All right,” Mary says, halfway into their third glass, “you gotta finally tell me.”</p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p1">“The deal with your name.”</p><p class="p1">Lily actually laughs. “So, I’m divorced, as I’ve told you.”</p><p class="p1">“But the story starts sooner than that.”</p><p class="p1">Lily nods, drinks a little more, and then explains. “My family has a culinary history in Spain. My father moved to London, however, and never managed to get a toehold with the sort of food he really wanted to do. Certain things were expected of you then, if your last name was Castañeda.”</p><p class="p1">Mary nods her understanding. She was not straying so far from her roots. She imagined it might be harder for Lily.</p><p class="p1">“So, I’m not sure it’s changed much. Anyhow, when I was at Le Cordon Bleu, I went in as Lilith Catañeda, but in my last year, I got married. To Adam Bardsfield-Chapman.” She waits, but Mary gives her a blank look. She has no idea who that is. “The Bardsfield-Chapman family are hyphenated because they were libertines in the 1800s, but famous because they’re titled and are known as hoteliers and restaurateurs.”</p><p class="p1">“So you married British royalty?”</p><p class="p1">“Royalty is a bit dramatic. I married a man with a title.”</p><p class="p1">“So wait, you kept his name, right. So did I sleep with a Baroness or something last night?” Mary jokes.</p><p class="p1">“No,” Lily chuckles, “had I kept the title, it would have been Marchioness–”</p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p1">“Marchioness. Adam was a Marquess. But I gave up the title in the divorce. All I cared about was keeping the name.”</p><p class="p1">“Because of the lineage. You kept it so you could get–”</p><p class="p1">“–the right sort of treatment, the right sorts of suppliers, the right sorts of reviews. Lilith Castañeda was dead, long live Lily Bardsfield-Chapman.” She smiles bitterly and raises her glass for a toast.</p><p class="p1">“That’s kinda sad,” Mary says. “I mean, I’ve had to fight for everything I have, but I got what I got because people expect someone like me to cook a certain kind of way, and even though I’m doing it kind of on the haute cuisine side, it’s still sort of within the parameters of what they think I should be doing.”</p><p class="p1">“You don’t sound very impressed with your Michelin stars,” Lily chides.</p><p class="p1">Mary chuckles. “I wasn’t even going to do this competition. Ava had to twist my arm. It’s not that I don’t know my value. I know I’m good. I just figure, I’m playing the game, that’s all.”</p><p class="p1">“Aren’t we all.”</p><p class="p1">Mary looks at Lily for a minute. It makes sense now, why it's so important to her to be excellent and win fairly . She needs to counteract the guilt she feels at skating by under a name that isn't really hers and leveraging the advantages that come with it.</p><p class="p1">An idea starts to form in her mind. Maybe it’s stupid, but it seems wrong that Lily isn’t competing when she had more right to be there than almost anyone. She worked the hardest, wanted it the most. Wasn’t that worth something? “I’m a little surprised Beatrice popped off like that. She doesn’t seem like the type.”</p><p class="p1">“She’s not, normally. I don’t know what came over her.”</p><p class="p1">They look up and see Camila strolling over to them. She looks like she’s had a few glasses of wine herself. “Hey Camila,” Mary says.</p><p class="p1">Camila comes over, pulls up a chair, and plops herself down. “How urr ye twa daein’?”</p><p class="p1">Mary blinks twice.</p><p class="p1">“We’re alright, all things considered,” Lily responds.</p><p class="p1">“Ah heard whit happened. Ah cannae hawp thay kicked ye oot!”</p><p class="p1">Mary’s glad that Lily is there, because Camila’s accent is literally impossible to understand.</p><p class="p1">“Well, Beatrice did punch Crim, so I suppose it’s not surprising,” Lily responds. “Even if Crim did sabotage us, there’s no way we can prove it.”</p><p class="p1">“Weel, ye kin, it turns oot,” Camila says cheerfully. She picks up her camera bag and opens it, pulling out her camera in the middle of the wine bar. “Hae a keek at this.” She looks a bit pleased with herself.</p><p class="p1">After a moment of scrubbing through footage on the viewfinder, she turns it around so that they can see what she wants to show them.</p><p class="p1">A small video of Crimson looming over Beatrice starts playing in the window:</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Well, my dear, maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.” </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You did.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Ah, alright, I did. But honestly, didn’t I do you a favor? I know how mad that Lilith can be, she did need to be taken down a peg, don’t you think?” </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You did it, then?” </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“I did. But don’t you think she deserved it, maybe a little?” </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“And what about the Americans’ wine? Did you do that too?” </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Oh, I had nothing to do with that. But I’ve been waiting years to teach Lilith Castañeda a lesson, you can’t possibly think I’d miss my chance, do you? And look, it all turned out fine in the end.” </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You’re everything she said you were.”</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And then Beatrice takes a swing at her. Mary can’t help being impressed that a woman Beatrice’s size managed to pack that much power into her swing.</p><p class="p1">Camila stops the camera. “Sae, does that hulp?”</p><p class="p1">Mary nods slowly, grinning. “Hey Lily. Do you happen to know where we could find Mme. Masters right now?”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe, why?”</p><p class="p1">“I think she needs to see this. Post haste.”</p><p class="p1">“But… she’s already made her decision. And even if what Crim did is awful, Beatrice shouldn’t have taken a swing at her. She’s not going to reinstate us.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s not exactly what I have in mind. Let’s go find a cab.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ava doesn’t really know what to do now, so she just ushers Beatrice into her suite and keeps a hand on her back as she walks over to the bed. She flops down on it, and curls up into a little ball. Ava stands there, feeling useless and unsure.</p><p class="p1">“This is all your fault,” Beatrice sobs bitterly.</p><p class="p1">Ava shakes her head. “No, you’re just saying that because you’re upset.”</p><p class="p1">“Of course I’m upset,” Beatrice responds, sniffling. “You upset me.”</p><p class="p1">Ava sits down on the edge of the bed. “Because I told you the truth the way I see it?”</p><p class="p1">“No,” Beatrice says miserably. “Because you were right.”</p><p class="p1">Ava feels a little badly for shattering her this way, but some part of her is glad to know that she was seeing Beatrice correctly. As she sees it, her job now is putting Beatrice back together.Ava rubs Beatrice’s back gently. “Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. But you need to know that I didn’t mean to upset you. I just…”</p><p class="p1">“Stop.” Beatrice sits up. Ava’s heart twists a little when she sees the tear streaks on her face. “I’m going to take a hot shower,” Beatrice announces. She marches off to the bathroom and closes the door.</p><p class="p1">Ava listens to the spattering sounds of the shower, and stretches out on the bed, thinking about what happened. She had called Beatrice out, rattled her in a way neither of them expected, and then she went running off, she had the bad fortune to run into Crim, who regardless of whether she had it coming or not, was the last person Beatrice needed to see when she was already in a state of stirred-up emotions.</p><p class="p1">Ava sucks at relationships, and she knows that. She’s loving, generous, and giving, but she’s also sloppy and overenthusiastic and occasionally a little selfish. Sometimes she just plain feels too much. But she knows these things about herself. She can’t imagine having a blindfold ripped off on all of that, all at once.</p><p class="p1">A big thing about Buddhism, according what Ava read this morning in the taxi to the convention center, is that you’re supposed to be able to free yourself from pain by freeing yourself from wanting anything. This adds up to Beatrice spending her life disciplining her wants, taking an arm’s length from painful emotions. All under the auspices of service. She didn’t know what to do when Ava just took her by the shoulders and made her feel something.</p><p class="p1">Ava decides she needs to apologize for that. She goes to the bathroom door and knocks. “Hey, uh, Beatrice?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice doesn’t answer.</p><p class="p1">“Listen, I just wanna say–”</p><p class="p1">“Ava?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes?”</p><p class="p1">“Just come in.”</p><p class="p1">Ava is surprised by this, but pushes the door open. She finds Beatrice standing under the water as it runs in rivulets down her naked body, mixing indistinguishably with her tears. She’s leaning against the tile wall, eyes closed, just breathing deeply.</p><p class="p1">Ava tries again. “Listen, I just wanna say, I’m sorry I–”</p><p class="p1">“Don’t. Apologize.” Beatrice’s voice is firm.</p><p class="p1">“But you don’t even know what I–”</p><p class="p1">“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Beatrice says.</p><p class="p1">“Well, I disagree, and I wanna–”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice sighs, eyes still closed, and says, “For god’s sake, read the room, Ava.”</p><p class="p1">Ava shuts her mouth immediately.</p><p class="p1">A long silence follows, filled only by the sound of the water spattering against the wall and the tub and Beatrice’s body. </p><p class="p1">“Tell me something,” Ava says softly.</p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p1">“What do you want? Not the big picture. Just now. Right now. What do you want?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice opens her eyes and casts her gaze down at the floor.“I want you to get in here with me.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay. See how easy that was?”</p><p class="p1">Ava slips out of her clothes. She sees Beatrice look up furtively at her as she undresses. Last night had been dark, they hadn’t really gotten to see each other. Beatrice wants to see her now. Ava looks at Beatrice, too, really looks at her, really takes in the slender waist, the small, perfect tits, the lean, muscled thighs, and sees nothing but a map of places she wants to kiss.</p><p class="p1">She steps into the shower and shivers a little as the warm spray hits her skin. “Okay,” she says. “I’m here. What do you want now?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice tilts her face up and looks Ava in the eyes. After a moment, she draws Ava in and kisses her, softly, intensely, mouth open, tongue seeking. Ava feels her knees get a little weak, but she leans against the wall the way Beatrice is, and lets the kiss unfold as it will.</p><p class="p1">Water runs over them, and Ava’s body is letting her know what it wants. It wants Beatrice. She takes a washcloth hanging over a small bar in the shower, and offers, “Want me to wash you?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice nods silently.</p><p class="p1">Ava is not satisfied with this. “Tell me that’s what you want. We’re doing what you want now, okay? Tell me what you want.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice closes her eyes again. “I want… I want you to wash me.”</p><p class="p1">“Good,” Ava says patiently, and she soaps the washcloth up and runs it over Beatrice’s slick, wet skin. She starts at her neck, working down one side, up the other, down the front of her throat. Her neck is graceful and long, and Ava relishes every inch of it as she washes. Beatrice sighs.</p><p class="p1">She moves down and across her chest, from one shoulder to the other, down her sternum, down to her stomach and back up again. Beatrice moans a little, just from this, and Ava pauses. “Are you okay?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice nods. “Don’t stop.”</p><p class="p1">Ava smiles, and works her way back up, across the front of her ribcage, back up her sternum, and then deliberately down one side of her ribcage, only sweeping it across the outer side of her breast as she brings it back down. Beatrice moans again. Ava repeats this action on the other side of Beatrice’s body, smiling at the little soapy trails she leaves all over her skin.“Is that good?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes,” Beatrice sighs.</p><p class="p1">“But?”</p><p class="p1">“But…” She falters.</p><p class="p1">“You want something different?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice nods. “Wash here, please?” She brushes her fingers lightly over her breasts, over the taut nipples, and Ava is only too happy to give her what she asks. Beatrice is asking for what she wants. This is a victory by any measure.</p><p class="p1">Ava spreads the soapy cloth over her hand and uses it to cup Beatrice’s breast, massaging it soft, slow, soapy circles. Beatrice moans again, quietly, gently, and Ava can hardly contain herself, hardly keep herself from giving her everything all at once. It’s important that she ask for it. It’s important that she take it for herself.</p><p class="p1">After several long moments, she switches to the other one, and Beatrice grabs onto Ava’s waist, her fingers digging in. Her eyes are closed and she’s lost in the feelings that Ava is giving her.</p><p class="p1">Ava stops for a moment. “Hey,” she says softly, “look at me.” Beatrice smiles. She opens her eyes, and Ava is ready to drown in them without a moment’s hesitation. “I liked the eye contact,” Ava says, “I liked being able to see everything going on in your head.”</p><p class="p1">Ava goes back to lovingly caressing her tits with the soapy cloth, and soon she becomes aware of Beatrice’s hips, curling instinctively, looking for something more.</p><p class="p1">“Tell me what you want now,” she whispers.</p><p class="p1">“You,” Beatrice says, staring into Ava’s eyes. The hunger in them devastates her. She didn’t need Beatrice to be generous, she needed her to <em>want</em> her. </p><p class="p1">“You’ve got me,” Ava chuckles. “How do you want me?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice grabs Ava’s waist and maneuvers them around so that Ava’s back is against the tile wall. She gently guides Ava’s washcloth hand out of the way and presses herself against Ava’s skin. Their bodies slip against each other, sliding easily, and Ava wraps her arms around Beatrice and holds on as Beatrice rubs her whole self against Ava’s body, more than just grinding on her thigh, but taking the sweet friction of their entire bodies meeting and slipping against each other. Ava spreads her palms across Beatrice’s back and feels the tension of the long ropes of muscle down each side of her spine, the shift of her shoulder blades as she flexes and presses her entire self against Ava, trying to simply have all of her at once.</p><p class="p1">“Do you want to come?” Ava asks.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice pants, “Yes” in her ear.</p><p class="p1">“Will you get there this way?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice only moans in answer. Ava slides her hands down, grabs onto Beatrice’s deliciously firm ass and encourages her movements, the pushing, the gliding, the grinding, the shivers of delight. </p><p class="p1">“That’s it,” Ava encourages her, “this is for you. This is about what you want, and you taking it for yourself. If you want different, or more, you just tell me.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice whimpers quietly, and presses herself harder against Ava, and she’s still slow and deep, and everything is wet and slippery. “I want you,” she sighs again.</p><p class="p1">“You have me,” Ava says. They slide against each other, drenched and shuddering, and Ava doesn’t know about Beatrice but she’s so close to an orgasm she can practically taste it. The little noises Beatrice is making sound like arousal, but also frustration. She needs help. Ava wants to help, badly.“I want you to come. Will you let me help? Do you want me to do that?”</p><p class="p1">She feels Beatrice nod.</p><p class="p1">“Tell me. That part’s important.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice pulls back and looks in Ava’s eyes again. Ava can see all the hunger denied, years of it, all focused on Ava now. “I want you to make me come,” she whispers.</p><p class="p1">Ava isn’t sure how she doesn’t drop dead right there, but they stay this way, their eye contact unbroken, and Ava reaches down and slides a finger into Beatrice. The flesh is warm, swollen, slick with sex, and Ava gently moves her finger in and out. Beatrice wants to let her eyes fall shut, but she keeps them open, keeps looking at Ava. Ava sees so much in her eyes; longing, agony, pleasure, affection, lust. Oh, God. Lust.</p><p class="p1">“Is this good?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes.”</p><p class="p1">Ava presses the heel of her hand against Beatrice’s clit as she continues working the finger inside her. “Do you want to come for me?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice nods frantically, and the pitching of her hips and her grip on Ava’s shoulders tells Ava that she’s very close.</p><p class="p1">“This is just for you,” Ava whispers again, and Beatrice moans. “All for you. You can have whatever you want.”</p><p class="p1">“I want to come,” Beatrice whimpers again. She’s trying so hard to keep her breath slow, deep and steady, but it catches, it hitches, it stumbles. The sound of it thrills.</p><p class="p1">Ava pushes her finger further inside, pressing harder, murmuring encouragement. “You can,” she’s panting, “you can. You can have this. There’s nothing else in the world right now, there’s just this, this moment, and in this moment, I want you to come.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice freezes for a moment, goes stiff, and her eyes finally need to drop shut as wave after wave of orgasm go rippling through her. She clings to Ava’s shoulders, moves herself against Ava’s hand, lets out a short little cry, and then another, and then another, and then at last, a sob of relief, as she relaxes against Ava’s body, both of them supported by the wall.</p><p class="p1">Ava holds her for a long time. She wanted this last night and didn’t get it, but now she understands. “Hey, do you want to move this to the bed?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, let’s move this to the bed,” Beatrice agrees.</p><p class="p1">There will be more, Ava thinks happily. She’s dying to give her more. Dying to just give, and give, and give.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Mary, Lilith and Camila get out of a taxi in front of Le Cordon Bleu. Lilith has assumed that Mme. Masters will be in her office at this hour, and so they’ve hurried there in the hopes of catching her and having a word. Lilith still thinks Mary’s plan is utter madness, but they’ve simply got nothing to lose at this point. And Crimson’s actions need to be made plain.</p><p class="p1">Lilith knocks on the office door, although it hangs open. Mme. Masters is at her desk, looking at something. She looks up, takes in the sight of the three of them, and looking a little perplexed, waves for them to enter.</p><p class="p1">“Mlle. Bardsfield-Chapman,” she greets her. “Mlle. Lefusil.” Her eyes settle on Camila. “And you are…?”</p><p class="p1">Mary nods respectfully in her direction. “This is Camila. She’s a camera op with the BBC, trailing Crimson McCarthy.”</p><p class="p1">“I see.” She inspects the three of them for a moment.</p><p class="p1">Lilith knows that she can probably tell they’ve been drinking a bit.</p><p class="p1">“So? To what do I owe the honor of this unannounced visit?”</p><p class="p1">Mary and Lilith exchange a look. Lilith nods to Mary and lets her take the lead, since this is her ridiculous idea anyway.</p><p class="p1">“Well, Mme. Masters,” Mary begins, “I came to inquire about having Mlle. Bardsfield-Chapman sub in for my sous chef in the final round tomorrow.”</p><p class="p1">Mme. Masters looks them over, now even more perplexed. “This is highly irregular. For a number of reasons.”</p><p class="p1">“We know,” Lilith says.</p><p class="p1">“To begin with,” Mme. Masters says, “substitutions on the team are only allowed under very special circumstances.”</p><p class="p1">“Of course.”</p><p class="p1">“And of course, there is the matter that Ms. Bardsfield-Chapman has been disqualified.”</p><p class="p1">Mary coughs gently and says so smoothly that butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, “Well, Mme. Masters, her <em>team</em> has been disqualified. In the competition’s by-laws, that does not necessarily exclude her from competing in another capacity. At least, there’s nothing that specifically prohibits it. Her sous chef is excluded because she was involved in the scuffle with Crimson McCarthy that led to the team’s disqualification, and that's certainly fair. But Mlle. Bardsfield-Chapman was in no way involved in that incident.”</p><p class="p1">Mme. Masters taps the desk with her pen for a moment. “This was not how the incident was related to us.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith grows furious, but does her best to clamp it down. “So Crimson McCarthy claimed that I was involved as well?”</p><p class="p1">Mme. Masters nods. “She did. And if I do recall, the two of you did have some acrimony back in your time at this institution.”</p><p class="p1">“Indeed we did. But we have evidence that shows that while my sous indeed was involved, that I was not.”</p><p class="p1">“Do you.”</p><p class="p1">“We do. And further, it shows that my sous had reasons for her actions, which, while they may not justify them, will shed some light on them, and may demand action on the part of the contest.”</p><p class="p1">Mme. Masters now looks intrigued. “Alright, then.”</p><p class="p1">Camila steps up to the desk with her camera and turns the viewfinder around so that Mme. Masters can see it. “If ye'll tak' a keek 'ere, ye'll see whit happened. Ah dinnae blame her yin bit fur kicking her bahookie . Ah wid hae as well!”</p><p class="p1">Mme. Masters blinks twice. Camila scrubs back to the moment when Crimson and Beatrice began their back and forth.</p><p class="p1">“Ah didnae ken whit wis aboot tae happen bit thank god ah wis thare.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith recognizes the blank look on Mme. Masters’ face when someone cannot parse out Camila’s accent, because she just saw it on Mary. “Yes,” she says helpfully, “thank God you were there.”</p><p class="p1">The video plays. Mme. Masters watches with interest. When it gets to the bit where Crimson admits to her sabotage, Mme. Masters’ eyebrow lifts. She looks up at Camila. “And you filmed this? This was earlier, outside the women’s room?”</p><p class="p1">“Aye, an’ as ye kin see…” Camila stops, seeming to notice for the first time that Mme. Masters is having difficulty following her speech. She switches to near-perfect French: <em>“Comme vous pouvez le voir, Madame, Mlle. Bardsfield-Chapman ne fait pas partie de cette interaction.” As you can see, Madame, Ms. Bardsfield-Chapman was not a part of this interaction.</em></p><p class="p1">Mary and Lilith’s jaws both drop at the same time. They gawk for a moment at Camila.</p><p class="p1">Camila looks annoyed by their shock. “Whit? O’ coorse ah speak French. Howfur dae ye think ah git th' jab tae begin wi’?”</p><p class="p1">Shaking her head, Mme. Masters sighs and considers the three of them. “Mlle. McCarthy will have to be dealt with,” she begins slowly, “and we and the sponsors will be speaking to her employers at the BBC. Further, we will request a new broadcaster for the final round, since we cannot trust that she will not sabotage the equipment again.” She looks at Camila, and after some consideration, asks, <em>“Pourquoi nous donneriez-vous ces images alors que cela blessera sûrement votre patron?” Why would you give us this footage when it will surely hurt your boss?</em></p><p class="p1">Camila straightens herself up and declares, <em>“Pourquoi Michael Jones à la BBC est mon patron, pas Crimson McCarthy. Et je n'aime pas les gens qui ne se battent pas équitablement.” Because Michael Jones at the BBC is my boss, not Crimson McCarthy. And I don’t like people who don’t fight fair.</em></p><p class="p1">Mme. Masters seems impressed with this response. She sighs and turns her attention to Mary. “And I must ask you, of course, Mlle. Lefusil, why you would extend such generosity to such a stiff competitor?”</p><p class="p1">Mary smiles and her posture changes ever so slightly. Lilith can see that charm sliding off her as she says, “Because Lily didn’t do anything wrong, Madame. She’s a great chef, and a hard worker, and she deserves to be in the finals. I have nothing but respect for her skills, and for who she is as a person, as well. Her sense of honor deserves to be rewarded, n'est-ce pas?”</p><p class="p1">Mme. Masters seems mildly irritated by this development, but she also remembers Lilith and knows her well enough to know that what Mary’s saying is all true. “So,” she says after a moment, “if I may summarize, your request is that, since you were not involved in your sous chef’s actions, and because they were the result of an injustice, you are accepting the disqualification of your team, but are requesting permission to compete as subsitute for Mlle. Lefusil’s sous?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith nods.</p><p class="p1">“And you, Mlle. Lefusil, are proposing this to mitigate the injustice suffered by her team as a result of Crimson McCarthy’s sabotage, is that correct?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, Madame.”</p><p class="p1">She nods silently for a moment, her eyes darting back and forth over the three of them. “It is highly irregular…”</p><p class="p1">Lilith’s stomach clenches. It was a hail mary sort of idea, but now as she’s standing here, she wants it to work.</p><p class="p1">“…but I will allow it.” She glances at a clock on her desk. “Please keep in mind that if you intend to submit any recipe changes, you must do before 11p.m. tonight.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith sighs. “Merci beaucoup, Madame, this is extremely generous of you–”</p><p class="p1">Mme. Masters holds up a hand. “That will do. Now, get out of here before I change my mind.”</p><p class="p1">Camila pumps a little fist in the air, Mary just shakes her head, and then, thanking her profusely, they make their way out the door.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, and Mlle. Lefusil?” Mme. Masters calls.</p><p class="p1">Mary turns around. “Yes, Madame?”</p><p class="p1">“It might interest you to know that I recall that Mlle. Bardsfield-Chapman was rather fond of lavender.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith flushes.</p><p class="p1">Mary stifles a little cough. “Thank you, Madame.”</p><p class="p1">As they exit the front, Lilith swats Mary’s arm. “You were too obvious.”</p><p class="p1">Mary looks innocently at her. “Too obvious about what?”</p><p class="p1">“You were too obviously…” Lilith frowns at her. <em>In love with me,</em> is what she wants to say, but that’s ridiculous. “…acting like you wanted to get into my knickers.”</p><p class="p1">Mary smirks. “I already did that. I’m just doing this because I like you. Everything I said to her was true, you know.”</p><p class="p1">Lily tries not to smile. She wants to be annoyed with Mary, but… but there’s a kindness happening, and she can’t rightly object.</p><p class="p1">She wouldn’t mind another night with Mary on the other side of all this, she thinks, but right now, they have to sort out their recipe.</p><p class="p1">“Two chefs in the kitchen,” she mutters.</p><p class="p1">“Scary,” agrees Mary. “Bet you haven’t been anyone’s sous in a minute.”</p><p class="p1">“No.” She looks at Mary, loose-limbed, brilliantly talented, smoky-eyed Mary, and says, “I’m sure you’ll do fine with keeping me in line.”</p><p class="p1">Mary bites her lip a little but doesn’t say anything.</p><p class="p1">“Och!” Camila shouts. “Git a room!”</p><p class="p1">Mary looks as if she’s actually considering it for a moment, but she smiles and says, “Nah, we’ve got work to do.”</p><p class="p1">They will cook together. Will this actually work? For the first time in a long time, Lilith has a feeling in her chest that is like anxiousness but also like anticipation. She is actually…excited? For a moment she imagines that cooking with Mary will be like jazz, like sex, like something loose and living and artful, and that it might even feel joyful.</p><p class="p1">She may be wrong. She wants to hope, though. She can’t remember when cooking lost that for her. But suddenly, she wants it back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Mary and Lilith sit at an outdoor cafe. The reality of their decision is sinking in. They have to figure out what they’re going to make.</p><p class="p1">Lily at first suggests, “Well, this is your slot, so we’ll just make whatever you were going to make.”</p><p class="p1">Mary isn’t into this. “No. I wanted you to do this with me because these competitions are as much about ideas as execution. I want you to feel your ideas get a chance to compete.”</p><p class="p1">Lily frowns. Mary can see she’s uncharacteristically uncomfortable with this. “Madame Masters’ biggest criticism of me was that I was a little too safe in my ideas.”</p><p class="p1">Mary smiles. You see it a lot in chefs like Lily, who despite being very good, feel they have to prove they’re good enough, and don’t take the chances that could make them really great. “OK, well, what were you going to make?”</p><p class="p1">“A tarte with orange creme diplomate and a cranberry and white wine glaze.” Lily looks cautiously at her.</p><p class="p1">“That sounds pretty good.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, what were you going to make?”</p><p class="p1">“Apple brown butter mousse with apple confit and armagnac sabayon.”</p><p class="p1">They bandy their options back and forth, ever mindful of the ticking clock. As they discuss, it becomes clear that Lily has a special gift for working with creams; crème madame, crème diplomate, infused soft cheese emulsions. Mary is impressed. Those are difficult things to get right and require a sensitivity that high-strung Lily absolutely possesses. Mary, meanwhile, emerges as especially talented with sauces and glazes; fruit, caramel, chocolate, vanilla bean, coffee, whatever the dish requires. She has had to develop this in part because Ava does not have the attention span to be a good saucier, and back when Patois was a small stand and just the two of them, Mary had to fill in that gap.</p><p class="p1">“Interesting you went with orange again, after you had the orange endives with your duckling.”</p><p class="p1">“I like orange.”</p><p class="p1">“What if we made crepes?” Mary says.</p><p class="p1">Lily looks at her as if she’s an idiot. “Crepes? For this?”</p><p class="p1">The street bustles, and the sound of clinking glasses and silverware drift out from inside. “Yeah. But we do them different. Maybe coconut.”</p><p class="p1">Lily frowns. “And?”</p><p class="p1">“And what? I don’t know.”</p><p class="p1">“What would you propose to fill them with?” Lily asks sarcastically. “Cheese?”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe,” Mary says irritably. She stops. Lily is looking at her, a little amusement playing across her face. Her sarcasm is just provocation. She’s flirting, Mary realizes, and starts chuckling. “Settle down, Lily.”</p><p class="p1">Lily smirks. “Maybe I won’t.”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe you better, or this ain’t gonna happen.” Mary suddenly puts together all the snarky comments that Lily has had for her since the first day they met on the convention floor, and realizes that she’s been flirting the entire time.</p><p class="p1">Only a little chastened, Lily suggests, “What about a brie?”</p><p class="p1">Mary considers the suggestion. “Maybe ricotta?”</p><p class="p1">Lily considers it. “If it were very good ricotta.”</p><p class="p1">“Obviously.”</p><p class="p1">The negotiations continue. Lily is just difficult enough to remind Mary that she’s dealing with someone on her level. They eventually settle on a coconut crepe with a sweet, mild brillat-savarin chese filling and a strawberry-citrus glaze.</p><p class="p1">“One thing,” Mary says.</p><p class="p1">“What’s that?”</p><p class="p1">“Make it lavender-infused brillat-savarin.”</p><p class="p1">Mary remembered what Mme. Masters had said and without context, decided to remind Lily of it. Lily flushes a little.</p><p class="p1">“Alright,” Lily agrees.</p><p class="p1">They look at their watches. They have to write up the recipe and submit it, and then run around getting the ingredients they need. After that, they have been given kitchen access at Le Cordon Bleu for an hour to go through the recipe once. They haven’t cooked together before. They need the dry run.</p><p class="p1">They’ve been given a station in the teaching kitchen, which is quite spacious and currently empty. Most of the rest of the lights in the building are off. Under the fluorescent lights, they unpack everything and look at it with mild trepidation.</p><p class="p1">Mary is accustomed to her dynamic with Ava, and begins, “OK, so, you get the filling started and I’ll start prepping the sauce.”</p><p class="p1">Lily looks at her with a raised eyebrow and says, “Oui, Chef.”</p><p class="p1">Mary sighs. “If you’re gonna call me that, can you say it with less sarcasm?”</p><p class="p1">“Of course, Chef.”</p><p class="p1">Mary narrows her eyes and glares at Lily, whose mouth is twisted in a little smirk. “Ava doesn’t usually have to call me that, so you don’t have to either.”</p><p class="p1">“Sorry… Chef.”</p><p class="p1">Mary knows this behavior now. She considers grabbing Lily and pinning her against the countertop, but decides against it. “I hope you’re not going to be like this in the heat of competition.”</p><p class="p1">“The heat of competition? No.”</p><p class="p1">Mary starts zesting the orange and cutting the strawberries. She looks over at Lily, straining the lavender oil through some sweet-smelling herbs. It’s an enticing fragrance. She can already imagine the soft, sweet cheese tinged with lavender, and how it will interact with the bright glaze she’s preparing.</p><p class="p1">They’re quiet as they get about their tasks, occasionally asking each other for a utensil or an ingredient. When Lily is focused on cooking, she forgets to flirt, and just cooks. The intensity with which she works pulls Mary’s focus more than it should.</p><p class="p1">“You ought to lower the heat on that burner unless you want to burn your glaze,” Lily says. It’s not intended to provoke. Mary can tell the difference. Lily is just used to asserting herself when she’s cooking. Mary looks at the burner. She’s probably right. It probably could come down a little. She adjusts it.</p><p class="p1">“You’re distracting me,” Mary complains, only half-teasing.</p><p class="p1">Amusement crosses Lily’s mouth for a moment and she tosses a sidelong glance at Mary as she prepares to whip the herbed lavender into the cheese. “Sorry, Chef.”</p><p class="p1">Mary sets her spoon down on the counter. “Don’t make me come over there.”</p><p class="p1">“Sounds more like a promise than a threat.”</p><p class="p1">Mary stomps over to her, spins her around and looks her dead in the eye. Lily, whisk still in hand, returns her stare, eyes dancing. Mary’s tilts her head to one side, closes her eyes a little, and leans in as if to kiss her. Then, just at the moment when she can feel Lily’s breath on her lips, she stops. Pulls back, and with a raised eyebrow, says, “Nah. We got work to do.”</p><p class="p1">Lily releases a breath, mutters something Mary can’t hear, and turns back to her work.</p><p class="p1">“How did you end up becoming a chef?” Lily asks as she’s working on the filling. “Did you learn to cook from your mother?”</p><p class="p1">“My mom died when I was a kid.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s ok. I learned from my grandmother. And then I went to culinary school. Not your pedigree, but good enough to help me put together what I learned before with the new stuff and turn it into haute cuisine.”</p><p class="p1">Lily smiles at this. Mary wonders what she thinks. Why does she care what Lily thinks? Because she likes Lily.</p><p class="p1">They argue over how to make the crepes. It’s not sexy, just annoying. They end up beside each other, at dueling burners, each making a crepe the way they prefer. Lily pours her batter with a pastry piping gun, and produces something that looks like frilly, delicate lace. Mary pours hers the more traditional way, and then folds it into the shape of a blooming flower. They stand there for a moment and look at each other’s concoctions.</p><p class="p1">At the same moment, they both say, “I like yours.”</p><p class="p1">They laugh, and look at each other for a moment. Lily asks, “Do you think we’re going to win?”</p><p class="p1">“Do you care?”</p><p class="p1">Lily pauses to actually consider the question. “Don’t you?”</p><p class="p1">“A little. But this right here, this is the real shit.This is the real thing. The real reason I wanted you to do this with me.”</p><p class="p1">“What’s that?”</p><p class="p1">“You’re having fun.”</p><p class="p1">Lily stops short of saying something a couple of times. “I know how to have fun.”</p><p class="p1">“You keep saying that,” Mary chuckles. “But it definitely seems like people need to keep reminding you how.”</p><p class="p1">“People. Like you?” And there is that sarcasm again.</p><p class="p1">Mary steps close to her again, gets in her space, breathes in the scent of lavender and the clean, fresh smell of whatever soap Lily uses. “Not <em>like</em> me. Me.”</p><p class="p1">“You seem to be forgetting how much fun we had last night.”</p><p class="p1">Mary grabs Lily’s waist and yanks her close. “Believe me, baby, I haven’t.” She knows Lily is trying to provoke her into starting something. But this is the game now, isn’t it. Mary will make her wait. She runs a thumb up one of Lily’s beautiful, sweeping cheekbones. “But we’re not having that kind of fun tonight. Tomorrow, after the finals. Win or lose. But not tonight.”</p><p class="p1">Lily presses herself a little closer against Mary. “Alright,” she says, and pulls away.</p><p class="p1">They finish the dessert. The flower design is best for holding the filling, but the lace one is visually pleasing, so they do both; the lace on the plate and then the flower folded up in the center of it, with the sweet cheese filling nestled among its petals, and the glaze artfully applied in a pattern that mirrors the lace. They’re satisfied with what they’ve done. It looks beautiful, smells delicious.</p><p class="p1">“Moment of truth?” Lily says.</p><p class="p1">They cut into it. The coconut in the crepes complements the sweet cheese and the glaze balances the lavender in it. It comes together exactly as Mary had hoped it would. They stand together eating in silence for a few minutes.</p><p class="p1">“It’s really good,” Lily finally comments.</p><p class="p1">“Mm-hmm,” Mary agrees, licking the last of the cheese and glaze off of one finger.The way Lily looks at her as she does this does not escape Mary’s notice. She smirks a little.</p><p class="p1">They clean up and head out, satisfied that they will do the best they can in the finals tomorrow. They drop the ingredients off at the convention center.</p><p class="p1">Lily notices someone’s toque sitting on the counter near the refrigerator at Lily’s work station. The tall white chef’s hat seems a little random in the middle of the counter. “Whose is that?” she wonders.</p><p class="p1">Mary shrugs. “Probably Ava’s. She’s always leaving shit everywhere.”</p><p class="p1">Lily smiles. “You know I won’t do things like that, that’s the real reason you wanted me to sub.”</p><p class="p1">Mary just laughs at this. “Flattering yourself again, I see.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, I’ll get old waiting for you to do it,” Lily parries.</p><p class="p1">Mary takes Lily by the shoulders. “Lilith Casteñeda Bardsfield-Chapman Lumpford-Something-Shire, you are a brilliant, brilliant chef, and a very, very sexy woman.”</p><p class="p1">And then she kisses her. It’s brief and hot. Mary’s heart picks up a little at the way Lilith is so quick to respond to the touch of her mouth. It would be easy enough to go for it again tonight. But Mary wants to be serious about this. All of it.</p><p class="p1">“You gonna make it back to your room all right?” she asks.</p><p class="p1">“I’m fine,” Lily promises.</p><p class="p1"><em>You sure are, </em>Mary thinks. <em>You definitely, surely are.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ava is a thorough, enthusiastic lover when she’s allowed to be her whole self. Beatrice realizes that this is a part of Ava that she would have missed out on, had she insisted on retaining control over their interactions and chosen to only give and not receive. Ava is interested in tasting every inch of her, in pleasing her in different ways and seeing which ones work best. She is generous, comes with nothing to prove. Ava’s cherry lip gloss may have worn off hours ago, but Beatrice can still taste it, swears she can still smell it.</p><p class="p1">She lays now with her head on Ava’s chest. The room service they ordered a while ago sits mostly finished on the bureau, save for the salad, which sits untouched. Ava, exhausted, is dozing. Beatrice probably ought to be dozing too, wrung out as she is after Ava making a mess of her (how many times? She’s lost count). But her mind is buzzing.</p><p class="p1">It’s a bit frightening how Ava saw into her so quickly. The moment she broke through the internal wall to touch her own passions, Beatrice found herself unable to rein them in.</p><p class="p1">She’s had lovers before. She was always able to choose the flow of energy in the relationship; she would give, and the other would accept, and she was able to keep a certain internal distance. It allowed her to remain in her service role to Lilith, and to keep herself free of wanting too much from the other. Not wanting someone else too desperately meant keeping these entanglements pain-free. Relatively.</p><p class="p1">But now what? Ava has broken her. Ava’s willingness to follow her home sounds a lot less crazy than it did a few hours ago.</p><p class="p1">She stirs a little, and Ava sighs. “How’re you doing?”</p><p class="p1">“Alright. Just taking all this in.”</p><p class="p1">Ava chuckles. “You needed that.”</p><p class="p1">“I did.” Beatrice trails her fingers over Ava’s stomach. “I don’t understand how you saw into me so easily.”</p><p class="p1">“Sometimes I can. If I really like someone, it can be easy.” Ava’s hand combs through Beatrice’s hair. She yawns. “So what happened back there? Why’d you try to beat the shit out of Crimson McCarthy?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice winces, remembering the chain of events that led them to this. “She admitted to sabotaging our utensils.”</p><p class="p1">“Wowwww,” Ava responds. “Did she steal our wine, too?”</p><p class="p1">“She says she didn’t, but I don’t particularly believe her.”</p><p class="p1">“Huh.”</p><p class="p1">“There’s bound to be fallout,” Beatrice says. “I suppose I should check my phone.”</p><p class="p1">Ava looks out the window. “Yeah, me too.”</p><p class="p1">They disentangle themselves and roll over to retrieve their phones. Beatrice winces. Six voicemails, all of them from Lilith. And a series of texts:</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>What the FUCK happened? </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>We would have advanced if not for this. We’ve been disqualified. Please call me. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Why are you not answering your phone or texts? This is quite serious. Pack your bags. We’re returning to London tomorrow.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Then there is nothing for a little while. Then:</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I found out what Crim said to you. I saw the footage. I wish you’d have told me. She’ll be dealt with, and Mme. Masters understands your anger, but our team is still eliminated. Don’t pack yet. We’re staying for the final round.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ava, meanwhile, is scrolling through her phone and muttering: “Let me know when you get her settled… Lily says they’ve been…” She looks up. “Holy shit, you guys were disqualified?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not surprised,” Beatrice sighs. “Punching a broadcaster is generally frowned upon.”</p><p class="p1">Ava keeps scrolling. She reads, “Listen, Ava, you’re fired.” She blinks.</p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p1">Ava shakes her head. After a moment of scrolling, she looks up. “Mary is having me sit out the final round.”</p><p class="p1">“Why?”</p><p class="p1">“Because Lily is going to be her sous.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice looks at her phone again. “Well, that explains why she told me not to pack.”</p><p class="p1">They look at each other. “That sounds potentially terrifying,” Ava says.</p><p class="p1">“Potentially excellent,” Beatrice points out.</p><p class="p1">“Those two. In the kitchen. Together. With Mary allegedly in charge.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice knows what Ava is getting at. “We better be there. In case we have to save them from themselves.”</p><p class="p1">Ava grins. “You know, I thought about that a lot, what you said. About that being a part of the role.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, I noticed that earlier, in the entree round. You seemed more focused.”</p><p class="p1">Ava grins stupidly. “You were paying attention to me?”</p><p class="p1">“Perhaps a little.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”</p><p class="p1">They lean into each other, breathe each other’s breath for a moment, and kiss softly. It’s too easy to get lost in Ava’s delicious mouth, the way she kisses like she’s opening a gift.</p><p class="p1">“What happens now?” Beatrice whispers.</p><p class="p1">“Now? Right now? Probably Mary wants me to go back to the room because I guess Lily is on her way back here.”</p><p class="p1">“And after that?”</p><p class="p1">Ava buries her hands in Beatrice’s hair. “Let’s worry about it after. Let’s just go moment by moment, okay? We’ll figure it out. All I know is that before this trip is over, I want to spend another night with you, and I want to go walking through the Jardin de Tullerie with you and I want you to tell me stuff about your life and talk to me about food.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiles. It sounds perfect. “Yes, let’s do that.”</p><p class="p1">But then they forget that Ava was planning to leave, and they sit kissing in the bed for longer than they should. When the door clicks open, and Lily walks in, they scramble to pull the covers up.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, don’t cover up on my account,” she says archly, but Beatrice knows her well enough to know the affectionate teasing that lies under that sarcasm. Ava, on the other hand, looks a bit anxious.</p><p class="p1">“I was just leaving,” Ava says.</p><p class="p1">“Yes, you look ready to walk out the door,” Lilith replies. She glances at the unfinished room service sitting on the bureau and tsks. “And right in front of my salad, too.”</p><p class="p1">Ava snickers at this. Lilith picks up the little pile of Ava’s clothing from where it sits outside the bathroom door. She tosses it at Ava.</p><p class="p1">“Thanks.”</p><p class="p1">“I’ll excuse myself to the loo for a moment. Do get dressed. I need my quiet.”</p><p class="p1">She retreats to the bathroom. Beatrice thinks about what went on in the bathroom a little while ago and smiles to herself. Ava quickly slides into her clothes. She crawls across the mattress to Beatrice and kisses her again. “I’ll talk to you later,” she whispers, and then scampers out before Lilith can re-emerge.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice lays back on the pillows with the sheet pulled up, staring at the ceiling. She has gotten more than she bargained for with Ava, but she’s not sure that’s so bad.</p><p class="p1">Lilith comes out of the bathroom and strolls up to her. After a moment of inspecting her face, she says, “You look different.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice nods. “I feel different.”</p><p class="p1">“She was that good, was she?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice laughs. “So you and Mary, cooking together? Is that a good idea?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith nods. “I think it is, actually. The dessert we’ve settled on was a collaboration, and we were able to do a dry run at the kitchens at LCB, thanks to Mme. Masters. Oh, and by the by, we owe Camila the camera op some sort of fruit basket or something. She got everything Crim said to you on video.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice raises an eyebrow. “Collaboration? Hm. Well, I suppose it makes more sense than you simply being her sous for whatever she was already planning to make. I can’t see you consenting to that even under the circumstances.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith looks indignant. “Why not?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiles a little. “Ego, Chef.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith puts her hands on her hips, but can’t really muster a response. She’s a Michelin-starred chef in her own right, with a pedigree and a name. Normally, Beatrice would be right. Her ego would never permit her to play second, even on paper, to someone like Mary. But everything has gone upside-down now.</p><p class="p1">“You like her that much?” Beatrice can’t contain her surprise. Lilith has had a few relationships since Adam, and none of them were ever important enough claim more passion or attention than her cooking.</p><p class="p1">Lilith sighs. “I suppose I do. Americans and their damned charm.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice stretches out in the bed. “Yes, I’m well aware.”</p><p class="p1">But Beatrice has watched it happen. It’s more than just Mary’s charm. It’s Mary, seeing Lilith for who she is under all the insecurity and sarcasm. Mary understanding all her weird fragilities and anxieties. The two Americans come with an incisive eye for what they like, and can’t help but pursue it even if it isn’t the most cooperative.</p><p class="p1">But perhaps, Beatrice reflects, that’s what she and Lilith both need.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <b>LILITH</b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mary and Lilith meet at Mary’s station. Lilith’s stomach is in knots. She was so swept up in Mary’s enthusiasm last night that she didn’t even take in just how far outside her comfort zone she had wandered. Until now. Standing at someone else’s station, preparing to make a dish she has made only once before, with a woman she barely knows.</p><p class="p1">Mary’s energy is serious, but nowhere near as high-strung as Lilith’s. She reflects on what Mary had said, that the cooking together was the real point of this exercise, and she had bought into that. But now she’s here. And she wants to win. She can’t help it. That’s too much a part of her identity.</p><p class="p1">Mary is unpacking her tools. She nudges Lilith’s arm gently. “Look. I guess that’s Crim’s replacement.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith looks up. Her heart sinks. She sees the tall, imposing woman striding along beside Camila.</p><p class="p1">Mary frowns. “You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”</p><p class="p1">“I am most certainly not okay. That is Angelica Bardsfield, Baroness of Wicksbury and the grande dame of the BBC’s food commentary.”</p><p class="p1">“And an in-law?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes. A second cousin of Adam’s. And not a particularly friendly one, either. She’s from the side of the family that didn’t hyphenate, and she quite disapproved of the fact that technically, I outranked her when I was married to Adam. She never failed to let me know it in the most subtly irritating ways.”</p><p class="p1">“A passive-aggressive commentator, great,” Mary grumbles. “Well, remember, only the judges’ opinions matter. Don’t let her throw you.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith nods. But it’s a bit unnerving to have her energy around. When she approaches with Camila, Lilith inclines her head and smiles tightly. “Baroness,” she says.</p><p class="p1">“In a moment, Lily,” Angelica says, a little imperious. She addresses Mary first. “Chef, I presume that having been through three rounds of this already, you’re aware of what’s involved?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, quite, Baroness.”</p><p class="p1">Angelica waves, dismissing Mary’s address to her. “You needn’t use titles when I’m here in a professional capacity.”</p><p class="p1">“I’ll remember that.”</p><p class="p1">“Now, we’ll do a brief interview now, prior to the final, if you’re prepared to speak now?”</p><p class="p1">Camila looks at them apologetically. Lilith knows Angelica enough to know that questions like that aren’t really questions. They are statements of fact.</p><p class="p1">Mary nods. “That’s fine.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith wants to pull Mary to the side and explain what she’s dealing with, but then Angelica will know the extent to which her presence unnerves her, and Lilith cannot have that. She prays that Mary is smart enough to see through her.</p><p class="p1">“Can you tell us a bit about the dessert you’ll be making for this final round?” She tilts her microphone in Mary’s direction.</p><p class="p1">So Mary describes the dessert that they’ve planned. Angelica listens patiently.</p><p class="p1">“And what are the influences that produced this recipe? It’s quite unusual.”</p><p class="p1">Mary gestures graciously to Lilith. “Well, it was the result of a collaboration between myself and Lily Bardsfield-Chapman, who is subbing in for my sous chef today.”</p><p class="p1">Angelica nods as if she’s hearing this information for the first time, which Lily knows she bloody well isn’t. “I see. Now Lily, you were competing as a chef only yesterday, were you not?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith feels her cheeks flush. “I was.”</p><p class="p1">Angelica smiles and looks at Mary, “Quite a risk for you, isn’t it, Chef? But it seems you like to take chances, don’t you?”</p><p class="p1">Mary is trying her best to be graceful, but Lilith can see that the hand Mary is keeping behind her back is balled into a fist. “I do,” Mary says. “But I honestly don’t see bringing in one of the most talented chefs I know as much of a risk.”</p><p class="p1">“So,” Angelica presses, smiling, “no scuffles then, with two chefs in the kitchen?”</p><p class="p1">“None yet,” Mary says.</p><p class="p1">Angelica is not quite done. “And you, Lily, no troubles with playing second after competing as a chef a day ago?”</p><p class="p1">“Honestly, I’m glad I still get to be here, in whatever capacity.” Lilith’s patience is wearing thin.</p><p class="p1">Angelica moves on. Lilith realizes that her hands are shaking.</p><p class="p1">Mary looks at her with concern. “Are you alright?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith isn’t sure. She hopes her hands stop shaking soon. “What did you mean, none yet? Are you expecting a scuffle?”</p><p class="p1">Mary sighs. “You’re pointing that at the wrong person, Lily.”</p><p class="p1">The anxiety. The feeling of being trapped. She’s pointing it at Mary because she couldn’t point it at Angelica, not with a camera trained on her, not when she’s already scrambling to keep her reputation after Beatrice’s incident with Crimson. “Sorry.”</p><p class="p1">Mary comes over and quietly takes both of Lilith’s hands. “She was trying to get into your head. But you’re tougher than that. Don’t think about her. Just cook. When you cook, you don’t see anything but that. I’ve seen it. I know. So just don’t think about the Baroness. Just cook.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith nods, squeezes Mary’s hands, and then lets go. Angelica knows how to push all those buttons, play on all of Lilith’s anxieties about not really belonging there. The walking embodiment of all of Lilith’s class baggage. She wipes her sweaty palms on her whites and looks at Mary. “Are we ready, then?”</p><p class="p1">Mary glances up at the huge digital clock hanging above the kitchen. “Yes. We’ve got five minutes.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>BEATRICE</b>
</p><p class="p1">Beatrice and Ava stand on a balcony overlooking the convention floor. There are only four teams now, and fewer camera crews. Spectators are not technically allowed, but Ava had made note of a way up to this landing, and they’re able to watch.</p><p class="p1">The buzzer sounds, and the teams begin to cook. Beatrice says that they’re mostly here for moral support, but Ava doesn’t look like she completely believes that.</p><p class="p1">“Look, I can’t speak for Mary, but Lily under pressure can be a bit volatile,” Beatrice says. “If one of them gets frustrated and loses it, we need to be able to go talk them down.”</p><p class="p1">Ava slides her hand over on the railing and lays it over Beatrice’s. “Yeah, but I get the feeling that’s not the only thing you’re worried about.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice gives her a little nod. “You’re right.”</p><p class="p1">“What else?”</p><p class="p1">“Well, for starters, I believe the new BBC commentator is one of Lily’s former in-laws.”</p><p class="p1">Ava winces. “Yikes.”</p><p class="p1">“And there’s always the matter of whether Crim will come skulking around, looking for payback.”</p><p class="p1">Ava frowns. “I don’t like that possibility.”</p><p class="p1">“I can handle her.”</p><p class="p1">“Again?” Ava chuckles.</p><p class="p1">“If it’s necessary. What are they going to do? Disqualify me harder?”</p><p class="p1">Ava looks as if she’s about to make a suggestive quip, and Beatrice puts a finger to her lips. “Don’t. You’re adorable, but don’t.”</p><p class="p1">Ava smirks, and goes back to watching the floor.</p><p class="p1">Lily is working with some herbs and lavender. Mary takes out some fruit for prepping. Things are moving along well enough. Ava squints. “What’s Lily up to?”</p><p class="p1">“An infusion, I think. For the cheese.”</p><p class="p1">“Oooh,” Ava says, “I see a coconut.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes. Lily said coconut crepes.”</p><p class="p1">“Dammit,” Ava grumbles. “I would have liked to make coconut crepes.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, I’m sure we’ll get to have some,” Beatrice assures her.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, but I wanna <em>make</em> them.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiles. She understands the distinction.</p><p class="p1">“Uh-oh,” Ava says.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice looks down toward where they’re cooking. Mary is staring into the carton of strawberries with a look that says there’s a problem.</p><p class="p1">“Something’s wrong with the strawberries.”</p><p class="p1">They bolt toward the stairs to make their way out to the floor to see if they’re able to help. They’re not allowed onto the floor, but Ava shouts Mary’s name until she looks up.</p><p class="p1">“IS IT THE STRAWBERRIES?”</p><p class="p1">Mary nods.</p><p class="p1">“I’M GONNA GET YOU MORE RIGHT NOW!”</p><p class="p1">Mary gives her a thumbs up.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice and Ava run towards the door. “They just bought those last night. They shouldn’t have turned that fast,” Ava grumbles.</p><p class="p1">“It’s possible. This isn’t the season, so they’ve got to be shipped from somewhere, most likely.”</p><p class="p1">“Where’s the closest fruit stand?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice thinks as they run. “It’s a bit down the street.”</p><p class="p1">They’re running so hard, that as they’re exiting, they plow into someone and knock them to the curb.</p><p class="p1">“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Ava says, stopping to reach down and help them up.</p><p class="p1">They all freeze.</p><p class="p1">It’s Crimson.</p><p class="p1">“You again,” she spits.</p><p class="p1">“Us again,” Ava agrees. “What’s wrong, you didn’t get enough of an ass kicking yesterday?”</p><p class="p1">“Settle down, Ava,” Beatrice says quietly, not taking her eyes off Crim as she gets up from the sidewalk. “You shouldn’t be here.”</p><p class="p1">Crim grins at her. “Neither should you. I won’t tell if you won’t.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice stares up at her. “Not a chance.” She doesn’t look away, not even for a moment. “We don’t have time for this. Ava, I’ll handle her. Go and get the strawberries.”</p><p class="p1">“I kinda wanted to watch you beat her ass,” Ava objects, but quickly rescinds it. She runs off down the street to look for the strawberries.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice feels a strange thing; it’s anger, yes, but it belongs to her. She can control it. She can use it, if she needs to. Crimson’s expression becomes slightly less amused the longer Beatrice’s eyes bore into her.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know what you’ve got planned,” Beatrice tells her with a seething calm, “but it’s not happening. You’re going to turn around, walk away, and crawl back under whatever rock you scuttled out from under.”</p><p class="p1">“You caught me by surprise,” Crim responds. “You don’t have that this time.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice’s posture adjusts to something looser, ready to strike, to move. “I don’t need it.” She shakes her head. “You don’t have the faintest idea who I am, where I’m from, what my background is. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, I know it’s a sad, sad story if you’re playing second fiddle to a tight-ass wench like Lilith Castañeda. You look like a clever girl. Why hide behind her skirts? Too scared?”</p><p class="p1">“No. But you should be. No-one’s story could be sadder than yours, washed up at school, making a living talking about food because you can’t cook it.” Beatrice tilts her head a little, loosens her neck. “Lilith is a hundred times the chef you’ll ever be, and a thousand times the human being. Now this is your last chance. Leave, and don’t come back, and I won’t beat you into the pavement.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice isn’t suprised that Crim takes a swing at her. She’s surprised that it’s a better one than she expected. She slips out of the way.</p><p class="p1">“You’re angry,” Beatrice says. “And sloppy.”</p><p class="p1">Her first punch lands squarely. The rest? It’s a bit of a blur.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <b>AVA</b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ava runs down the sidewalk, occasionally glancing back over her shoulder to see whether Beatrice is beating Crimson down or not. She narrowly misses plowing into people more than once.</p><p class="p1">When she finds the fruit stand, she grabs as many cartons of strawberries as she can carry, throws a bunch of Euro notes at the proprietor, and dashes back down to the convention center just in time to see Crimson making an attempt at landing a punch at Beatrice. Ava grew up tussling in the streets enough to recognize someone who’d done the same. You can spot that kind of thing even under a three hundred dollar haircut.</p><p class="p1">But Beatrice is something else. She’s graceful. She delivers a spinning kick that almost looks like ballet, and she knocks Crim to the ground just as Ava arrives back at the spot with her armload of strawberries. “Was that karate or something?”</p><p class="p1">“Taekwondo,” Beatrice answers, breathing fast.</p><p class="p1">“You studied martial arts in the zendo?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes,” Beatrice says. “It’s good for–”Crimson starts to get up again, and Beatrice delivers another kick to her chest and knocks her back down. “–disciplining one’s emotions.”</p><p class="p1">Ava laughs. “Yeah, I see how disciplined your emotions are.”</p><p class="p1">Crimson is on her back. Beatrice puts a foot on her neck. “You’ll stay out of here if you’ve the faintest idea what’s good for you.” There’s a little flush in Beatrice’s cheeks, not unlike the one Ava saw when she’d gotten Beatrice all worked up the day before.</p><p class="p1">“Okay, listen, watching you kick her ass is a total turn-on, but we gotta get in there.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice looks disdainfully at Crimson. “Good. Let’s go. I think we’re done here.”</p><p class="p1">They run inside and make their way back to the edge of the floor. Again, Ava yells Mary’s name until Mary turns around. Ava can see that they’ve occupied themselves with other aspects of the prep while waiting for her to return with the strawberries. Mary runs over, grabs them, pants, “Thanks!” and runs back. She’s sweating a bit. Ava is not the praying type but she really hopes those two can keep their chill with the stress levels ratcheted up like this.</p><p class="p1">They hover around the edge of the floor. “How does Lily seem to you?” Ava asks.</p><p class="p1">“Stressed. But this is stressful.”</p><p class="p1">Mary and Lily both chop up the strawberries together. They’ve had to rearrange their workflow to accommodate having to wait for them. Ava cringes a little at the gusto with which Lily hacks open the coconut. “It sure is,” she mutters.</p><p class="p1">Ava is a little surprised when Beatrice reaches over and squeezes her hand. They exchange a little smile. Now it’s all just nail-biting and waiting.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>MARY</b>
</p><p class="p1">Mary’s glaze is sitting on a low flame now, and she and Lily stand side by side, Lily with her piping gun and Mary with a bowl and spoon. They pour their crepes. Angelica and Camila come by and Mary can tell that Angelica’s wondering what they’re up to, why they’re pouring two different types of crepe. She smiles to herself. Mary doesn’t care about winning, but she likes the idea of confounding someone who seems to poke at Lily’s insecurities.</p><p class="p1">The smell of the batter cooking, along with the faint perfume of coconut, rises from the pans. She glances over at Lily’s pan and sees the beautiful, lacy pattern sizzling in it. “Gorgeous,” she comments.</p><p class="p1">“Thanks,” Lily says. She’s too anxious to appreciate it.</p><p class="p1">Without looking up from her own pan, Mary says quietly, “I meant what I said to your bitch-in-law. You’re one of the most talented chefs I know. I hope you appreciate that.”</p><p class="p1">Lily stops and looks over at her, almost an actual smile on her lips. Then she frowns. “Don’t distract me.”</p><p class="p1">“Oui, Chef,” Mary teases.</p><p class="p1">Lily doesn’t seem amused.</p><p class="p1">She lays the lacy crepe on the first plate. Mary pulls hers off the pan a moment later, sets it in the center of the plate, and deftly folds it artfully into a flower using two spoons. Lily spoons the filling into it, but it seems awkward in a way it didn’t last night. “I don’t like this,” Lily complains. “I don’t like the way it sits in the flower.”</p><p class="p1">Mary frowns. “All right, next one, you spread the filling on before I fold it, okay?”</p><p class="p1">The produce another pair of crepes, and Lily spreads the filling on. Mary struggles a little with the folding because the weight of the cheese makes it harder to manipulate the crepe. One wrong move and the damn thing could tear. “The first way is faster and easier.”</p><p class="p1">“Second way looks better.”</p><p class="p1">They’re on the verge of their first kitchen scuffle. Mary looks up at the clock. They’re running out of time. “I have an idea.”</p><p class="p1">They crank out two more crepes. They fill Mary’s with cheese. Then they pour on a layer of the fruit glaze. Then they wrap it in Lily’s crepe. It looks like a Christmas gift with the red glaze showing through the lacy white crepe. Lily looks pleased. They hurry to make more. Now that they know what they’re doing, the ticking clock weighs a little less.</p><p class="p1">Mary knows it weighs more to Lily, though.</p><p class="p1">By the time the buzzer sounds, they have produced several small plates, enough for the judges, themselves and Beatrice and Ava, who have been hovering around the perimeter. Lily looks anxious for this whole thing to be over. Mary is mostly anxious to taste the dessert again. They lay down their utensils and look at each other.</p><p class="p1">The anxiety coming off of Lily is practically palpable in the air. She grabs both of Lily’s hands. “We did great. <em>You</em> did great.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re quick on your feet,” Lily says after a moment. “Your solution may have saved the day.”</p><p class="p1">“Cooking is like a live combat situation. Especially things like this.”</p><p class="p1">The judges come around. Mme. Masters looks with interest at what they’ve made. She tastes it. She seems impressed. The other judges have their own go at the beautifully made dessert. Mary feels good about it. The judges go away to make their decision.</p><p class="p1">Angelica wanders by, but Mary and Lily are just leaning back against the counter, exhausted, and don’t give her the dramatic tension she seems to be hoping for. So she moves on.</p><p class="p1">Mary doesn’t care that much if they don’t win. But she wants it for Lily, who seems to need the validation so badly. So when Mme. Masters calls for all the chefs to gather together in the center of the floor, the cameras flocked around them, Mary’s heart clenches up a little. They go up and join the other three teams in front of the judges.</p><p class="p1">“It was a very difficult choice,” Mme. Masters says, looking around at the group. “Each of your offerings were superlative, thoughtful, and surprising. Some of you took chances I would not have expected from you.” Her eyes seem to settle for a moment on Lily. “But of course, we had to choose only one winning team. So. The winner of this year’s Le Cordon Bleu Chefs Under Thirty Competiton will be…” She pauses, looking around for drama. She knows where the cameras all are. “J.C. León of Boqueria. Your Galician sponge cake with creme brulee topping, and butterscotch sabayon was a delight. Please come and take your certificates.”</p><p class="p1">A bunch of flashes go off as J.C. and his sous, Chanel, go up and take their certificates from Mme. Masters, smile photogenically for the cameras, and grin stupidly at each other. Mary tries to take Lily’s hand, but she pulls it away. This isn’t going to be pretty.</p><p class="p1">They can’t really storm off and Lily knows that; they have to wait and congratulate the Spanish team and give them hugs and whatnot. Lily will be gritting her teeth through all of it. But at least Angelica Bardsfield will be too busy interviewing the winners to harass them anymore. Mary takes Lily’s arm and escorts her back to their station.</p><p class="p1">“Butterscotch sabayon,” Lily grumbles. “Why didn’t we think of that?”</p><p class="p1">“Because we had a different idea. And it was good. And we executed it well. Sometimes you can do everything right and still not win.”</p><p class="p1">Lily glares at her. “How can you say that to me?”</p><p class="p1">“Because it’s the truth. Maybe the world has always worked the way it’s supposed to for you, but I know better.” Mary shakes her head. She takes a plate and hands it to Lily. “Here. Eat this.”</p><p class="p1">“Trying to shut me up?”</p><p class="p1">“No. We made something great and I want you to eat it, you idiot.”</p><p class="p1">They stand in silence and eat their crepes. They melt in her mouth and release a perfect symphony of flavors on the back of her tongue. Even Lily’s bad mood softens a little. When Angelica Bardsfield approaches, Mary offers her a plate. The camera is still rolling.</p><p class="p1">She accepts it graciously, and her first bite stuns her into utter silence for several seconds. “Oh,” she says, genuinely seeming somewhat disarmed by it, “it’s quite lovely. Condolences on your loss, Chef, but congratulations on a uniquely wonderful creation.”</p><p class="p1">“Thank you,” Mary says, “as I said, it was a collaboration. I couldn’t have done this without Lily.”</p><p class="p1">“Hm,” Angelica says, noncommittally. “Quite so. Best of luck in your future endeavors.” She moves on without anything more to say.</p><p class="p1">“See that?” Mary says. “You even made Baroness von Bitchface shut her mouth for a minute with how good it was.”</p><p class="p1">Ava comes running up at this moment, panting. “Did you guys win?”</p><p class="p1">“No,” Lily says glumly. She looks around. “Where’s Beatrice?”</p><p class="p1">“Uhh, well… the Paris police showed up and they’re carting her off because Crim showed up again planning on doing something.”</p><p class="p1">“The police!” Lily exclaims.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah. Beatrice told her no fucking way, so Crim tried to punch her. And well, apparently Beatrice is an actual ninja because she pretty much curb-stomped her.”</p><p class="p1">“So Crim got the cops involved,” Mary sneers.</p><p class="p1">“Kind of a bitch move,” Ava says. “I mean, don’t start none, won’t be none, right?”</p><p class="p1">Lily is simply shaking her head. “Well. Mary, I’ll come back later to clean up, if that’s all right.”</p><p class="p1">“Nah,” Mary says, “go get your girl. I got Ava here, she’ll help me.”</p><p class="p1">They watch Lily stomp away with a great deal of purpose.</p><p class="p1">Ava and Mary sigh and look at each other. “Not dealing well with losing, is she?”</p><p class="p1">“Nope.”</p><p class="p1">Ava looks at the crepes. “That one for me?”</p><p class="p1">“Yup.”</p><p class="p1">Ava takes a bite. “Ooh, nice!” She proceeds to list off every last ingredient including all of Lily’s herbs. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t win with this.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna put it on the menu at Patois. As a special.”</p><p class="p1">“You should,” Ava agrees around a mouthful of food.</p><p class="p1">Mary starts cleaning up her station. “Once you finish that, help me.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, sure.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, and don’t forget your toque over there, I guess you left it.”</p><p class="p1">“Huh. That’s weird.”</p><p class="p1">Ava walks over and picks up the toque to see if it is indeed hers. Sitting underneath it is a bottle of California chardonnay. Ava almost snorts crepe out her nose. “Oh, shit.”</p><p class="p1">Mary sighs. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>hang onto your butts, people</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Lilith arrives at the police station, but is told that Beatrice would be held for 24 hours on “garde á vue” while they looked into her case. With nothing much more to be done, Lilith heads back to the hotel and collapses on the bed.</p><p class="p1">She orders a croque madame from room service that she doesn’t even want, and sits on the bed staring at it while she flips numbly through the channels on the television. The winning dessert sounded excellent, she muses bitterly, but theirs was excellent too. She can’t let it go. She’s not trying that hard, though.</p><p class="p1">A knock at the door interrupts her wallowing. Frowning, she goes and opens it to find Mary standing outside. “Hello.”</p><p class="p1">“Hi.” Mary peers past her. “So? Want to go get a drink or are you drowning in self pity?”</p><p class="p1">“Beatrice is being released tomorrow,” Lilith responds churlishly.</p><p class="p1">Mary scoffs. “And I know you’re worried about her. But let’s go out and relax a little and get your head right with this. Because I can see it, you’re mad we didn’t win.”</p><p class="p1">“Singular chef, singular vision,” Lilith answers. “It was a kind gesture, inviting me to cook with you, but wrongheaded.”</p><p class="p1">Mary looks at her for a moment with … what is it? Like she’s not buying a word of what Lilith is saying. “Are you going to invite me in? Or do you have company?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith huffs and moves aside. Mary enters like she’s been there a hundred times, and tosses her blazer over a chair. Lilith likes the shirt and tie look on her. She gets annoyed with herself for thinking it.</p><p class="p1">“So?” Mary demands. “What’s the matter with you?”</p><p class="p1">“As if you need to ask. I don’t deal well with failure.”</p><p class="p1">Mary looks genuinely irritated with this. “Now, you need to knock that shit off right now.”</p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p1">“You had a real good ride. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith knows she’s doing it, but Mary calling her on it is more than she can take. “You have quite the nerve, talking to me that way.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, come on. I’m probably the best thing that’s happened to you in a minute.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith’s eyebrows raise sharply at the confidence with which Mary says this. “Someone thinks highly of themselves.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s called knowing your value. You could stand to learn that.” Despite her irritation, compassion creeps into Mary’s tone. It almost makes the whole thing worse.</p><p class="p1">Lilith’s blood is stirred up. Mary’s words hit too near to the heart of things. “And who’s going to teach me? You?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah!” Mary shoots back, leaning into Lilith’s space a little. “If you’d actually listen!”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, really?” Mary’s scent is alarmingly present; cigarettes, faint spices, whatever that buttery skin cream is that she uses.</p><p class="p1">“Lily, you made it to the final round of an elite competition. You learned that your sous is willing to lay the beatdown on someone to protect you. You made a friend – maybe more! And you enjoyed yourself, for once, for one goddamn time in your life! You took a risk and you loved the result! You loved it! Why can’t you just admit that you can fail and that it was still worth doing? Winning isn’t everything, Lily!” Mary’s frustrated. Good. Lilith wants Mary frustrated the way she’s frustrated.</p><p class="p1">Lilith shakes with anger at being so fully seen and dressed down. “Who do you think you are?” she demands, and it sounds weak to her own ears.</p><p class="p1">“Someone who likes you! Someone who cares if you’re actually happy! Someone who thinks you’re talented and intelligent and wants to see you believe it and enjoy it!” Mary sees too much, knows too much.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, shut up!” Lilith cries. She doesn’t know what to do, so she grabs Mary’s tie and yanks her into a rough kiss. She bites down on Mary’s lower lip hard enough to get a little gasp of pain. That’s all it takes. The match has been struck.</p><p class="p1">“Okay, alright,” Mary mumbles, and her arms slide around Lilith’s waist to pull her in. She gets a hand in Lilith’s long hair, and tugs it, pulls her head back. Mary’s teeth sink into the side of her throat, and it stings in a way that sends hot shivers down to her core. “That’s what you want right now?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith nods vigorously. Mary has always overwhelmed her; her confidence, her ease, her charm, her talent. Her comfort in her own skin. Lilith wants the overwhelming to be complete.</p><p class="p1">Mary bites her again, sucks hard enough to hurt, and Lilith slides her hands into the back pockets of Mary’s jeans and squeezes. This is going to end up on the bed. She wants it to end up on the bed. She bites Mary’s shoulder through her shirt to let her know that she wants it to end up on the bed.She slides her hands up under Mary’s shirt tails and up her back, and then rakes her fingernails down. Mary grunts. “Easy with those.” She pushes Lilith down onto the bed.</p><p class="p1">Message received.</p><p class="p1">“You still mad?” Mary pants, tugging Lilith’s top off with burning urgency.</p><p class="p1">“Yes,” Lilith answers, twisting herself to permit easier removal. “And I don’t like you.”</p><p class="p1">Mary smirks. She settles herself down, sitting on Lilith’s hips, and pauses to admire Lilith’s body. “Yeah you do,” she says with utter confidence.</p><p class="p1">Lilith hates her confidence. She hates it and loves it. She wants it for herself. She wants Mary to fuck her till it rubs off on her.</p><p class="p1">She reaches up and grabs Mary’s tie again, pulls her down into another hard kiss. Mary’s tongue licks deep into her mouth. She wants it all over her body: neck, chest, nipples, ribcage. Stomach. Lower. She moans, and presses her hips up against Mary and they’re locked like that for a minute, moving roughly against each other in the bed.</p><p class="p1">Lilith rakes her nails up Mary’s back. Mary hisses sharply, grabs her wrists, pins them to the mattress. Still grinding against each other, she says in Lilith’s ear, in a low growl that makes her immediately wet, “<em>Easy with those</em>.”</p><p class="p1">They stay this way, and they could probably come this way, but it’s not enough. Not now. Lilith needs more. She tugs her wrists out of Mary’s grip, and runs her hands up Mary’s back again. When she drags her nails down again, she digs in a little harder. Mary groans in pain, but maybe a little bit pleasure too. Lilith is beyond pleased when Mary sits up again, undoes her tie, and says, “Alright. I see what we need to do.”</p><p class="p1">Mary quickly, deftly ties her tie in a knot around Lilith’s wrist, loops the tie through the bedpost, and then ties it around the other wrist.</p><p class="p1">Mary understands her. She knows that when Lilith pushes her, she wants Mary to push back harder, not back down and put up with it. Lilith lies there, helpless under Mary’s gaze, which is a strange mixture of hot, tender, and proprietary.</p><p class="p1">Mary slows down for a moment. She unhooks Lilith’s bra and tosses it aside. She tugs Lilith’s trousers down and looks at her, hungrily, dwelling in the moment. “Take off your clothes,” Lilith urges. She likes Mary’s body, likes all that bronze skin, those strong shoulders and powerful thighs. She wants to see it all.</p><p class="p1">Mary leans down close to her face, close enough to tantalize her with the possibility of a kiss, and whispers, “No.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith whines a little and ineffectually tugs at her bonds. Mary crawls down her body and lays a stinging bite on Lilith’s shoulder. She leaves a string of burning love bites on Lilith’s ribcage. Mary is beatiful, Lilith realizes as Mary looks up at her, smirking. Mary’s soft mouth closes around a stiff nipple, and Lilith gasps. She can’t take her eyes away from the sight of Mary sucking, biting, tormenting her with the constant shifting of rough and soft that keeps Lilith off balance in a way she loves.</p><p class="p1">“Still mad?” Mary asks, gently mocking, around a mouthful of Lilith’s breast.</p><p class="p1">“I –oh– I don’t know,” Lilith answers, breathing thickly. She can’t think anymore.</p><p class="p1">And then Mary pulls her mouth away, and there’s nothing Lilith can do.</p><p class="p1">Mary’s not arrogant. Never that. She doesn’t need to be. She just knows she offers something that Lilith hungers after more than she knows how to even articulate. Lilith needs to give herself up to something, and it might as well be Mary, because Mary somehow represents not the things Lilith thinks she wants, but things she needs.</p><p class="p1">When the first of Mary’s fingers pushes into her, Lilith moans loudly. She doesn’t care who hears. When the second comes a moment later, she pitches her hips against it and feels her body tighten around Mary’s touch. “Harder,” she whispers.</p><p class="p1">Mary bites Lilith’s nipple and the stab of hurt is so sweet it confuses her for a minute. Mary’s fingers are surging inside her, deep. That’s where she needs it. She pushes again. “Is that all you’ve got?” she pants.</p><p class="p1">Mary smirks, and stops. She withdraws her fingers, and Lilith whines. “Oh, I’ve got more. Don’t know if you can handle it.”</p><p class="p1">“Try me.” But Lilith is desperate. Mary is playing with her, and Lilith needs her to stop.</p><p class="p1">Mary is still dressed. Lilith wants her naked. Mary is toying with her, holding back. Lilith draws her knees up to her chest, opens herself.</p><p class="p1">Mary raises an eyebrow. “I see.” She slides two fingers back in but doesn’t do anything more. “Admit you like me.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith moans. “Mary…”</p><p class="p1">“Lily. Admit you like me, and I’ll give you everything you need.”</p><p class="p1">And it <em>is</em> need. It is not want. She wants prizes, and accolades, and Michelin stars. She needs joy, pleasure. The release of not caring about the wants. “Mary, I need you,” she says.</p><p class="p1">“That’s nice,” Mary says, smiling. “But I can pretty much tell you need me right now. I want you to admit you <em>like</em> me.”</p><p class="p1">“I do like you!” Lilith moans, trying to buck her hips and get something from the fingers inside her.</p><p class="p1">“Good,” Mary says, and for a minute, her eyes become so gentle. “I like you, too.” She brushes a thumb across Lilith’s clit, and Lilith shivers.</p><p class="p1">Mary takes her time as she moves up, settles on top of Lilith, and buries her fingers deep. Lilith badly wants to wrap her arms around Mary, but she’s still restrained, so she wraps her legs around her instead. Mary’s lips are next to her ear now, and they brush against it as Mary whispers, “You gonna stop playing games now, baby?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes.”</p><p class="p1">“Promise?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes.”</p><p class="p1">When Mary begins in earnest, her strokes are long and slow. She pushes in deep, and then slowly slides almost all the way out, far enough that parts of Lilith ache for her to come back. She holds, teases, waits, and then eases back in. Each stroke is delicious agony.</p><p class="p1">“I just want to fuck <em>you</em>,” Mary says quietly, nibbling on Lilith’s neck. “Not some idea of yours about what you ought to be.”</p><p class="p1">Another long, slow stroke draws a moan out of Lilith’s mouth.</p><p class="p1">“So tell me. Is this you?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith can’t even talk anymore. She nods.</p><p class="p1">“See,” Mary says gently, as she continues her deliberate movement, “you don’t need to prove anything to me.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith surrenders. Mary leans into her, pushes deeper. “You want it harder?” </p><p class="p1">Lilith nods.</p><p class="p1">“Okay.” Mary captures Lilith’s mouth in a deep kiss, and begins to pump at her with the kind of conviction that Lilith needs. Her insides twist at how good it feels; being vulnerable, giving Mary control, trusting her enough to lay herself open. She knows she could have stopped any of this at any time, but she doesn’t want to and never did.</p><p class="p1">“Mary,” she moans.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, baby?”</p><p class="p1">“You’re… oh, God, you’re beautiful,” Lilith says.</p><p class="p1">Mary rewards her by pumping harder.</p><p class="p1">“Thank you,” Lilith sighs.</p><p class="p1">The headboard is knocking against the wall in a quick rhythm. Lilith rocks her hips against Mary’s pounding. She feels so much tension building, a knot of it that tightens where Mary’s hand is, and pulls everything in her toward that spot.</p><p class="p1">Mary stops again and pulls her hand away.</p><p class="p1">“Please…” Lilith moans.</p><p class="p1">“Ssh,” Mary says. She leans on one elbow and unties the knot around Lilith’s wrists. They share a long look, and Lilith feels a flood of warmth from it. “You still mad?” This time, the question is soft, teasing, gentle. Mary knows the answer already.</p><p class="p1">“No,” Lilith says quietly.</p><p class="p1">When Mary pushes into her again, Lilith wraps her arms around Mary and holds on tightly. And when Mary’s thrusting finally pushes her over the edge and into a delicious, full-body orgasm that curls her toes and clouds her senses, Lilith is gladder than she can express that she can hang onto Mary and let Mary be her anchor as she comes undone underneath her.Mary kisses her deeply as she comes. It’s right. It’s perfect.</p><p class="p1">A sighing quiet settles over them. Lilith is craving Mary’s skin. “Mary?”</p><p class="p1">“Hm?”</p><p class="p1">“Please take off your clothes.”</p><p class="p1">“Since you asked so nicely.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith is much happier when she has Mary naked in her arms. “So what happens now?”</p><p class="p1">“Well,” Mary yawns, “I figure we could have sex a couple times more.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith swats her shoulder. “I mean… with whatever it is we’re doing here.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, that what now.” Mary sighs. “Well, I don’t know. Ever been to New Orleans?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Beatrice spends the time in the French jail meditating quietly in a corner. She’s aware of a group of teenagers being hustled in, for graffiti, she thinks, and then hustled out later. Somone’s nephew, most likely. When there’s too much racket to meditate, she sits and thinks.</p><p class="p1">She isn’t worried. If the police were indeed able to find witnesses, they would all say that Crim swung at her first. With both of them being foreign nationals, the likelihood is that the French police will not want to deal with prosecuting. Crim is probably smart enough to know that too, but the move has taken Beatrice out of play.</p><p class="p1">She wonders whether Mary and Lilith won. She wonders whether this night in jail is a waste of a night she could be spending with Ava.</p><p class="p1">A young African man comes in for what Beatrice guesses is public drunkenness. He has a granola bar in his pocket, which he shares with her. She thanks him. He observes her meditation and questions her about it, and she explains it to him. Soon, he joins her. By the time Lilith comes to pick her up, she’s got a cell with half a dozen drunks and small-time vandals sitting around, eyes closed, in search of Zen.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice isn’t sure that Lilith won’t be angry with her. She approaches with the characteristic formality that she would if they were in the kitchen, but Lilith throws her arms around Beatrice and hugs her, and Beatrice returns this very welcome greeting. They leave together and walk for a bit without speaking.</p><p class="p1">“Coffee?” Lilith inquires after a moment.</p><p class="p1">“Yes. And food.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith knows a café not far from here, so they walk in that general direction. “You’re walking funny,” Beatrice observes.</p><p class="p1">Lilith flushes. “I am not.”</p><p class="p1">“You are.” She smiles a little. “Spent the night with Mary, then?”</p><p class="p1">“None of your business.” After about five seconds, she adds, “But yes.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice sees something different in Lilith, more than just the looseness of her gait. She seems less burdened, somehow. “Did you and Mary win?”</p><p class="p1">“No,” Lilith says with a smile. “At least, not the competition.” She looks over at Beatrice, oddly soft, oddly fond. “So what did they say about your arrest? Charges?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice laughs. “They really don’t want to be bothered with it.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith nods.</p><p class="p1">They find the cafe and sit outdoors. Beatrice is ravenous and orders savory crepes, a soup, and a small cheese tasting board for them to share. When their food arrives, Lilith leans forward and says, “So, I think there’s something important we have to discuss. Well, a few important things, actually.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice looks cautiously at her. “If it’s about my actions towards Crim–”</p><p class="p1">“In a manner of speaking, I suppose it is. I wanted to thank you. You were willing to put yourself on the line to protect me, and protect what you and I had accomplished together, and although I admit I wasn’t initially very happy about it, I’ve come to the conclusion that I couldn’t ask for a more loyal friend.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith speaking from the heart is a rare and lovely thing. It certainly isn’t what Beatrice had been expecting on the other side of her brief stint as a jailbird.</p><p class="p1">“Which,” she goes on, poking at the foam atop her coffee, “is why I’ve come to an important decision. I’ve decided that you deserve a promotion.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice blinks several times. “I don’t understand,” she says finally.</p><p class="p1">“I’m promoting you. I’m leaving La Ronde to start a new venture, and promoting you to head chef.”</p><p class="p1">Shock descends. Beatrice cannot speak, nor comprehend what she’s been told. “Lilith…”</p><p class="p1">“You’re ready,” she says matter of factly. “You’re strong, levelheaded, competent, and willing to take risks. All marks of an excellent chef.”</p><p class="p1">She doesn’t know what to think. Crim may have inadvertently hit upon one truth among all her taunts: Beatrice was indeed afraid to think of a life that didn’t involve serving as Lilith’s second. “I don’t know what to say…”</p><p class="p1">“Say yes. You’ve earned this. It’s past time for you to make the kitchen at LaRonde your own.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice finally manages to shake off her surprise. “Where are you going?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith looks so happy, it’s actually slightly confusing to Beatrice. “Well, Mary and I are discussing my going to the States and opening a joint venture.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice’s mouth drops open.</p><p class="p1">“Close your mouth, something will fly in,” Lilith says.</p><p class="p1">“You’ve made one dessert together, and you’re just… picking up and moving to America?”</p><p class="p1">“Well, not entirely. It’ll be a warm weather venture – spring, summer, fall. I’ll still winter in London. There are lots of details to iron out. However, I wanted to let you know now. I’ll still retain ownership of La Ronde, obviously, but the kitchen will be yours.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice shakes her head. This seems impossible. Incomprehensible.</p><p class="p1">Lilth picks at the cheese board. “You must understand, Beatrice, that I’ve been miserable for quite a long time.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice reflects on this.“For as long as I’ve known you, I think.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes. And that’s quite a few years at this point. I’m sick to death of laboring under the burdens I’ve placed upon myself. Going somewhere entirely different and starting something new… it feels right, right now.” She pauses to appreciate the small bit of goat cheese she popped into her mouth. “God, that’s quite good. Anyway, yes. It’s time to bury Lily Bardsfield-Chapman. I’ve no use for Adam’s name in the States, I can rise or fall on my own merits. And I’ll have a friend by my side.”</p><p class="p1">“A friend?” Beatrice says dryly. “What is it between you and Mary, then?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith sighs. “She’s a friend. Probably more. I have a great deal to learn from her, I think.”</p><p class="p1">But Beatrice has worrying about Lilith practically wound through her DNA. She’s concerned about the impulsivity of this, the many potential pitfalls. “So she’s a friend. Is a romantic friendship?”</p><p class="p1">“I suppose so,” Lilith says, laughing a little. “I don’t quite know what that part will be like. Andbefore you lecture me on the stupidity of mixing business with pleasure I already know the risks and have decided it’s worth it.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I’m going to silently eat my soup whilst I wrap my head around all of this.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith is familiar with Beatrice’s occasional need to process things in silence and respects it. She allows Beatrice to finish her soup before she asks, “So I suppose you’ll have to start thinking about who will be your sous.”</p><p class="p1">An entirely new wave of terror washes over her. Choosing a second? How can she? What will she do? “I suppose I could promote Reginald, he’s competent.” She can’t believe these words are leaving her mouth. She can’t believe that she has to choose someone to be for her what she has been for Lilith all these years.</p><p class="p1">Lilith looks at her, amused. “Well, that’s one option. You might also consider bringing someone in from… outside.”</p><p class="p1">It takes Beatrice only half a second to understand Lilith’s meaning. “You can’t be serious.”</p><p class="p1">Lilith raises an eyebrow at her. She looks too bloody amused by all this. Who is this light-hearted, impulsive woman, and what has she done with perennially stressed-out Lilith?“All I’ve said is you might want to bring someone in from outside.”</p><p class="p1">“You know bloody well what you’re suggesting.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">****</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Beatrice goes back to their room. Lilith and Mary have put off their departures to spend a few more days. Beatrice just crawls into bed and calls Ava from underneath the blankets.</p><p class="p1">“Hey, Million Dollar Baby,” Ava answers. “How was jail?”</p><p class="p1">“Bloody awful, but it’s done.”</p><p class="p1">“You okay?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes. Except, my entire world is changing very fast and I need to think.”</p><p class="p1">“You want me to come over?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice hesitates. “I’m not really ready to talk.”</p><p class="p1">“You don’t have to,” Ava says cheerfully. “Are you in bed?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes.”</p><p class="p1">“So I can just come in and cuddle you. No boning. I swear.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice musters a weak chuckle.</p><p class="p1">“I won’t talk at all.”</p><p class="p1">“Now I don’t believe you.”</p><p class="p1">“I know I know. Look, you can just do that breathing thing we did. I’ll be quiet. I promise. Just… Lily and Mary are, I don’t know, making googly eyes at each other walking along the Seine or whatever people do in Paris, so I have nothing to do now anyway.” A little pause follows. She adds, “And you don’t really sound like you should be alone.”</p><p class="p1">Ava is good on her word. She arrives the way she did the first time they properly met, with a box of croissants from Gilles Marchal – this time, absinthe– and two excellent hot chocolates in takeaway cups. She speaks not a word as they enjoy their treats together, and then slide under the covers, fully clothed, and curl up together. Ava is warm and soft, and the fit of their bodies, the bend of their knees, the curl at the waist, is as if they were made to lie together in just this way.</p><p class="p1">In a bizarre way, Ava has actually been the catalyst for all of this: it was Ava confronting her about her emotions that brought on her fit of anger and led to her punching Crimson. Had she not done that, their team would not have been disqualified. Lilith and Mary would never have cooked together. Lilith would not have been swept up with Mary’s charm and the presumably excellent lovemaking that followed. Lilith would not have chosen to pick up and move to America and leave Beatrice in charge of the restaurant, desperately in search of a sous.</p><p class="p1">“Ava,” she says, after a long, drowsy silence.</p><p class="p1">“Hm?” Ava says sleepily.</p><p class="p1">“Did they tell you what’s happening?”</p><p class="p1">“No.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, you’ve turned my life upside down.”</p><p class="p1">“I have?”</p><p class="p1">“Lily and Mary are opening a restaurant together. Lilith is moving to the States. She’s putting me in charge of La Ronde. I’m going to be chef.”</p><p class="p1">“What does that have to do with me?”</p><p class="p1">“You made an emotional wreck of me, quite frankly. I think it’s your fault I punched Crimson.”</p><p class="p1">“The first time.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, the first time. The second time, she had it coming.”</p><p class="p1">“So, you’re saying everything that happened that led to Mary and Lily opening a restaurant together and putting you in charge at La Ronde is because I poked at your feelings?”</p><p class="p1">“That’s the short version, yes.”</p><p class="p1">“So?”</p><p class="p1">“So…” Beatrice turns over in bed and finds herself nose to nose with Ava. “I’m going to need a sous chef.”</p><p class="p1">“Seriously?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice nods. “Yes. I’m calling you on your bullshit, Ava. I’m telling you that if you want to come to London, you can be my sous at La Ronde. Do you still want to come, now that it’s real?”</p><p class="p1">Ava kisses her passionately, and her eyes are all lit up like Christmas. “Jesus, yes! I wasn’t joking!”</p><p class="p1">They end up kissing for several minutes until Beatrice remembers she needs to say something else.</p><p class="p1">“But listen,” she says, pulling back to give Ava the most serious look she can muster, “you can’t be how you were with Mary. I don’t expect you to be me, but you can’t be so…” She strokes Ava’s cheek, looking for a gentle way to say what she means. “…so jazzy and improvisational. You need to take looking after my needs in the kitchen seriously. I need you to execute my wishes when I’m not there, and I need the line cooks to be just a little bit scared of you. Do you think you can do that?”</p><p class="p1">“I will take looking after all your need seriously, in the kitchen and out,” Ava promises. She’s utterly sincere. Beatrice can hardly believe the conviction with which she says it.</p><p class="p1">“Mary’s already warned me about surprises in the mise en place, you can’t do that. I understand that you have a gift, and if you want to cook together and develop recipes together sometimes, we can. But the kitchen is mine, and I need you to respect that.”</p><p class="p1">Ava shimmies closer to her, whispers against her lips, “I respect you so much, Beatrice. I really like you. I think you’re amazing. And I think if I get to be with you for a while, that I’ll love you, too. And if that means I have to be a little more serious…”</p><p class="p1">“You’ll need to grow.”</p><p class="p1">“I know. But I want to. I want to. I want to earn my place at your side.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiles. Ava is so earnest, it nearly takes her breath away. “Well, the croissants and hot chocolate were a good start.”</p><p class="p1">What is this madness? A pair of crazy Americans, an amuse bouche and a fancy dessert later, and suddenly everything is changing.</p><p class="p1">She wouldn’t have it any other way.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Well, this is the happy epilogue. Hope y'all enjoyed &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <b>EPILOGUE</b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Armand!” Ava hollers. “Get those goddamn quail eggs out of the water before they overcook!” For effect, she slams a knife into a nearby cutting board. “Shaw, please tell me the artichoke carpaccio is ready?”</p><p class="p1">“Coming, coming!”</p><p class="p1">The line cooks don’t know for certain whether Ava actually intends to fillet any of them with that knife, but they don’t want to find out. She can be relaxed with them, smoke a little weed or open some of the good wine after the night is done, but when the kitchen is live, she’s the instrument of Beatrice’s will. They like her, but they also don’t have any inclination to cross her.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice enters the kitchen. She’s been out at the tables, visiting with the patrons. She glides in, looks around with satisfaction. It’s taken a little time to find her voice, something that is respectful of Lilith’s precedent but also her own. But she’s got it. “I noticed that a few people are waiting on–” she begins to say.</p><p class="p1">But Ava produces two artichoke carpaccios with poached quail eggs and white truffle oil, grinning. “Come on. We’re on it.”</p><p class="p1">“Everything going all right back here, then?” Beatrice asks the room.</p><p class="p1">A resounding, “Oui, chef!” comes up in unison from the kitchen staff. They remember when Beatrice was Lilith’s sous and they know how this is all meant to work.</p><p class="p1">“Chef,” Ava says in a quieter tone, “we seem to be running out of the cocounut curry velouté. I guess it’s more popular than we expected.”</p><p class="p1">“Apparently everyone likes curry,” Beatrice says with a little smile. “You were right. “</p><p class="p1">One of their collaborative efforts is on the menu as a special, and been immensely popular this evening. Ava finds that she’s less likely to stray from the recipe when she’s got more of a hand in the creation. It seems that she needed to get out from under Mary’s wing nearly as much as Beatrice needed to get out from under Lilith’s.</p><p class="p1">Pans steam, sauces bubble, meats sizzle, cooks restock items, filled plates are produced, placed, passed down, and arranged. Wines are poured. Waiters buzz in and out. It’s as proper a kitchen as it ever was when Lilith was here, but it’s somehow… happier, Beatrice thinks. This is a delight, as true a self expression as she has maybe ever allowed herself. She can’t help but feel grateful at the shape of things, at the turn her life has taken, and at the chaos that Ava brought into her life a year ago in Paris.</p><p class="p1">After the night is over, Ava entertains a few of the kitchen staff with a half-finished bottle of bordeaux, some fried bread and cheese, and a bunch of dirty jokes that Beatrice can’t fathom how she ever remembers. She appreciates how Ava is able to connect with them and, no matter how brutal the night, remind them why the kitchen at LaRonde is a place they want to be.</p><p class="p1">“They like you,” Beatrice comments as they stroll back to their flat, hands laced together between them. It’s nearly 1 a.m.</p><p class="p1">“Of course they do,” Ava responds, “I’m awesome.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice laughs, but it’s true.</p><p class="p1">“They like you too, you know, and they respected you when you were a sous. They just feel like you’re… too perfect. They couldn’t connect with you.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice frowns. She knows that Ava has a gift for being charming with the staff, and appreciates it. But it makes her a little sad to think that they feel so removed from her. “Who told you that?”</p><p class="p1">“Well, they didn’t have to, but… Armand has said stuff like that.” Ava leans over and awkwardly plants a little kiss on her cheek as they walk. “I mean, you know <em>I</em> love you, babe, but… I’m able to see people’s hearts, the same as I can taste all the ingredients in a recipe. I saw yours, even though you didn’t really wanna show me.”</p><p class="p1">“But I show you all the time,” Beatrice objects.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, but not at first.”</p><p class="p1">She’s not wrong. “So what, then?”</p><p class="p1">“Don’t hide in your office when I’m pouring drinks and throwing down late night snacks. Come hang out with us. Smoke a little weed with us.”</p><p class="p1">“You can’t be serious.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay, you don’t have to smoke weed. But I think you should. But anyway, you should spend a little down time with them at the end of the night. Let them see how amazing you are. Let them get to know you. I bet you never told them anything about you.”</p><p class="p1">“I suppose not.”</p><p class="p1">“So? Give them a little something.” She smirks. “I mean, not as much as you give me, because I don’t want any of these numbnuts falling in love with you…”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice stops underneath a street lamp, takes Ava by the shoulders, and kisses her with a great deal of conviction. A year in, Ava’s mouth is still a delight, still sweet, still surprises from time to time with how well it knows hers. “Stop talking.”</p><p class="p1">Ava grins.</p><p class="p1">She’s given Beatrice something to consider.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*****</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The season at Avec Elle is coming to an end. This is one of the last few nights at Mary and Lilith’s New Orleans experiment.</p><p class="p1">It’s really two restaurants, two chefs, but operating as a single entity. The kitchens are adjoined so they can shift staff if needed, and in no small part so that Lilith and Mary can taunt each other and occasionally stop for a little peck on the cheek.</p><p class="p1">“I’m killin’ you tonight with the lobster citrus blinis!” Mary calls through the little window.</p><p class="p1">“Yes,” Lily agrees, “it’s too bad they all want the valrohna mousse when they’re done!” Two more orders go out the door as she says this, seductive medallions of dark chocolate topped with fresh strawberries.</p><p class="p1">They grin at each other.</p><p class="p1">Avec Elle is an experiment, one that appears to be succeeding. The seating area is outdoors, and they have two separate kitchens and menus, but the patrons outside can order from either, and even switch kitchens from one course to the next. It’s haute, but funky, imaginative, and good god, fun. It has become a popular date night destination due to the sheer novelty of the spot, which is overlooking the water and cordoned off by fairy lights.</p><p class="p1">Patois still exists. Mary has promoted one of the better cooks to head chef, but she still gives him a great deal of guidance. Some menu items sneak over from Patois to the menu at Avec Elle, but Avec Elle is a much more freewheeling menu where Mary is more likely to whip up whatever might suit her fancy. She and Lilith are both partners and competitors, and somehow, it’s the best situation that either of them could have dreamt up.</p><p class="p1">Out of an abundance of caution, Lilith declined to move in with Mary, so they keep separate places for now. When the patrons have gone, they hang out in back with some of Mary’s adouille sausage bread and glasses of Lilith’s lavender blueberry spiked lemonade. They more often than not sleep at one another’s apartments and though they’re still not calling it a romance, Lilith isn’t sure she wants anything different than this: making excellent food that pleases and tempts her, with a partner who pleases and tempts her just as well.</p><p class="p1">“So,” Mary says, as they stroll along the canal, “what do you think?”</p><p class="p1">“I think,” Lilith says, “that you should close Patois for two weeks in December and come back to London with me for Christmas.”</p><p class="p1">“Spending Christmas together?”</p><p class="p1">“Why not?”</p><p class="p1">“Well, it’s a big step for us technically not being in a relationship.”</p><p class="p1">Mary knows Lilith too well to not know what their partnership means to her. “We’re partners. Isn’t that a relationship?”</p><p class="p1">Mary snorts. “One kind, yeah.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s the only kind that matters,” Lilith says. “We’re grown adults, Mary, it sounds childish to refer to you as my girlfriend.”</p><p class="p1">Mary smirks at this. “Well? We’ve got options.”</p><p class="p1">“Such as?”</p><p class="p1">“Lover.”</p><p class="p1">“Awful.”</p><p class="p1">“Paramour.”</p><p class="p1">“Worse.”</p><p class="p1">“Side piece.”</p><p class="p1">“Now you’re just being idiotic.”</p><p class="p1">“Wife?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith stops. “Excuse me?”</p><p class="p1">Mary is looking at her with a lazy grin, like she’s not expecting a yes but she won’t exactly cry if she gets one. “Do you prefer that?”</p><p class="p1">“I’ve been married before, you know. It’s overrated.”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe you married the wrong person.”</p><p class="p1">As usual, Mary isn’t wrong.</p><p class="p1">“If it was me,” Mary goes on, “you could still be Lilith Castañeda, instead of Lilith Bardsfield Lumpford Somethingshire. You could still be you. And I could still be me. You know, we just be that… together.”</p><p class="p1">“You can’t be serious.”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe I’m not. But what would you say if I was?”</p><p class="p1">Lilith slides her arm around Mary’s waist as she thinks about it. What’s stopping her? They’re already far more entangled than she ever was with Adam. She looks at Mary. She looks good under moonlight. She’s got her button down shirt open one too many. She gets to see her like that most every night anyway. It’s just deciding that the experiment doesn’t have an end date anymore. Maybe that’s what it really is about.</p><p class="p1">“Come home with me,” Lilith says.</p><p class="p1">“That’s not an answer.”</p><p class="p1">“You’ll get your answer,” Lilith purrs. “Just come home with me.”</p><p class="p1">Mary likes the sound of this.</p><p class="p1">Wife, Lilith thinks. She rolls it over in her mind a little before letting it out of her mouth. There’s no stress to the thought. It will come. She kisses Mary, and takes her time with it. “Wife,” she mumbles.</p><p class="p1">“Hm?”</p><p class="p1">“Wife. I like it.”</p><p class="p1">“Thank God,” Mary says. “Otherwise I was gonna have to return this ring.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t like you.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah you do.”</p><p class="p1">“No. I don’t. I love you.”</p>
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